


Collateral Damage, Part 1:Unfortunate Ends

by ThePartyAfterYouLeft



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 71,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePartyAfterYouLeft/pseuds/ThePartyAfterYouLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of Olivia's life, home had been a flimsy shelter, buttressed by longing and loss. How quickly that had all changed. Home was no longer just a word or an idea, but was now a very real and specific place: wherever Alex was. The job was still a very important part of who she was, but even it took a backseat to this. Nothing below that on the list even mattered anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: After many false starts, here's the first chapter of the sequel to _Homeward Bound_  (and what I hope is not another false start). Hope you like it, and thanks, as always, to the girl who's enduring the beta nightmare to end all beta nightmares.**

* * *

**He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune;**

**for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.**

_-Francis Bacon_

* * *

**-1-**

**February 2, 2013**

Olivia Benson was pressed against the door of Room 6 at the Norwalk TravelStar Inn, with a doorknob bruising her hip and the links of a flimsy door chain digging into her shoulder. And there was nowhere else she'd rather be. She didn't notice the discomfort, or the outdated décor, or the scarred wooden furniture. She was, in fact, oblivious to everything except Alex's body pressed against her own.

Olivia loved Alex's aunt and uncle, and being able to propose to Alex at their house and share such an important moment with them had been surprisingly important to her, but she hadn't protested when Alex wanted to head home earlier than planned. The detour to a run-down motel was a welcome surprise. The detective loved Alex's assertive streak, but now that the emotions had settled a bit, Olivia was ready to take charge again. She tensed her back and pushed off from the door and began moving them across the room, toward the double bed that had definitely seen better days.

Their mouths never broke contact—Alex was hungry, and her desire was palpable in her searching kisses, and the way she continued to suck and bite at Olivia's lower lip. They were both surprised by the depth of emotion this proposal had exposed. Already fully committed, neither had expected being engaged to feel like such a profound change.

But it did. They'd discussed it last night, in hushed voices across the pillows at Bill & Jean's house. Alex's eyes had shone, slightly damp with tears that caught the light coming in across the bed from the boat dock:

" _You're my fiancee." It was a statement, but just barely. Alex's voice was full of wonder._

_Olivia nodded, and used her thumb to wipe away a single, salty drop from Alex's nose. "Don't cry, sweetheart."_

" _They're happy tears, really," Alex explained. "I'm just overwhelmed. I never, ever thought it would matter, but..."_

" _But now that it's happened, you can't believe we waited this long?"_

" _Exactly," Alex agreed. "If I'd had any idea how amazing this would feel, I'd have had a ring on your finger years ago."_

" _Sure," Olivia teased. "You say that now. How convenient." They both laughed, before Olivia grew suddenly serious. "I know what you mean, honey. I do. I've never been so happy to hear the word yes in my whole life."_

" _Even when I agreed to get you a warrant you had no business even asking for?" Now Alex was smiling._

" _Even then," Olivia said, and leaned in to place a gentle, almost timid kiss on Alex's lips._

Their kisses now were anything but timid. As they reached the bed in the middle of the small room, Olivia was already unbuttoning Alex's jeans, sliding the zipper down and beginning to tug the waistband south. When she finally had to kneel briefly to finish pulling them off, Alex took the seconds available to pull off her sweater and toss it to the desk. She looked down to find Olivia leaning forward, and running the flat of her tongue along the front of Alex's panties. The sight was every bit as arousing as the sensations it triggered, and Alex was torn. She'd wanted more kisses, but this might be a perfectly satisfactory substitute.

She continued watching as Olivia worshiped her with two more long, slow licks across the damp cotton, inhaling Alex's scent as she went, humming—almost moaning-softly the whole time. Finally, Alex could take no more while she was standing here. Her knees were already weak, and threatening to quiver. She put her hand on Olivia's chin, and turned the beautiful face up toward her own.

"Baby, come here and kiss me. I can't stand much more of that."

Olivia reached up and put a single finger over Alex's lips, shaking her head. She dragged that finger down over Alex's chin, down her throat, and onto her chest, before flattening her hand, palm hot against Alex's chilled skin and fingers spread wide. She gave one push—firm, but gentle—and Alex was quickly lying back on the bed, knees bent at the edge and feet on the floor.

No more words were spoken. For an hour, they stroked and filled and fucked one another. The sex wasn't particularly tender, or romantic, except it was all undeniably imbued with this fantastic sense of peace, and happiness. They were calm and content as they lay under the covers in this cheap room by the highway, as the light began waning outside in the winter afternoon.

"Are we sleeping here tonight, honey?"

"Not on your life," Alex laughed. She was on her side, resting in the crook of Olivia's arm, her leg thrown over the body beside her. "We're going back to Manhattan. I just couldn't wait that long to have my way with you."

"We were in the same bed last night, you know," Olivia joked. "I can be discreet when it's absolutely necessary."

"I wasn't sure what it would be like to make love to an engaged woman. Maybe it would've been wild and deafeningly loud, swinging-from-the-chandeliers kind of stuff."

Olivia laughed, and rubbed Alex's arm. "Well, given that their house doesn't really have any chandeliers, I suppose you were safe," she said. "But I can always count on you to be cautious."

"Sometimes too cautious," Alex said. "But not about you, Liv, not anymore. I'm certain about this, more certain than I've ever been."

Now Olivia felt a tear or two of her own threatening to fall. "Me, too, sweetie. Not a single doubt."

"You're making it easy on me, Benson," Alex laughed. "Sounds like an open-and-shut case."

Olivia rolled so they were facing one another. "I've got news for you, Counselor. I'd have taken a plea a long time ago." She kissed the blonde, a deep kiss full of love but temporarily devoid of the hunger that had consumed them earlier.

"You're trying to divert my attention," Alex protested. "Though your kisses are, admittedly, a pleasant distraction, we have details to attend to."

"Details?"

"Well, one detail in particular. And I'm sure we can discuss it later, but...our names," Alex explained. "Were you thinking...?"

"I was thinking," Olivia answered, "that we'd probably keep our names. I don't mind telling the  _maître d'_  that we're Cabot, party of two, but the paperwork involved is daunting."

"Worse than a DD-5, probably," Alex laughed. "And I know how you are with those."

"Is that okay, Al? Do you mind?"

"No, actually, I don't. I was hoping you'd say that. Professionally, it makes the most sense. And I'd be sad if I couldn't call you Detective Benson."

"Good, then it's settled, Ms. Cabot," Olivia said. "But want to know the truth?"

"Of course I do," Alex replied.

Olivia smiled, a suddenly shy grin overtaking her face. "I can't wait to make you Mrs. Me."

"Mrs. Me?" Alex gazed back at her with a luminescent smile. "You know, I like that."

They kissed again, and Alex sat up suddenly and swung both feet onto the floor. Looking over her shoulder, she took in Olivia's mussed hair and twinkling brown eyes, and gave her a wink. "Come on then, Mrs. Me. Let's go home."

* * *

Madeline Taylor folded her Saturday New York Times and set it aside on her kitchen counter, then poured herself another cup of coffee. The umpteenth follow-up on the mayor's resignation had been blissfully free of Alexandra Cabot, but most of the others had mentioned her role in Stephen Grant's downfall. Madeline wasn't remotely surprised by any of it. Cabot was such a crusader—such a sense of justice, and so damn smug about it, too. Madeline had actually found that charming when they'd first met—almost cute, really. How had this woman been through the ordeal of being shot, smuggled into witness protection, and the rest of it, and still have any faith in right and wrong? But she did, even when she had no business believing in the good in anyone else.

But the Alexandra Cabot on display these days was powerful and driven and competent, nothing like the broken person who'd been under Madeline's thumb so many years ago. And Madeline didn't care for it, at all. That ridiculous scene at Tiella had infuriated her. She'd never cared for Alex's friend Kate, and the low-rent detective was certainly no better. She honestly hadn't thought about Alex much until running into her that night, but lately the blonde attorney was looming large in her mind.

She picked the newspaper up once more, seeking to refresh her memory about one detail of the whole sordid story. She skimmed the article, and found the information she was looking for on page A15, after the jump.

_Dev Patel._

That was a name she'd remember. She was in no hurry, but she and Mr. Patel might have some common goals they could discuss when the time was right.


	2. Chapter 2

-2-

February 4, 2013

"Engaged?" Amanda Rollins practically squealed as she jumped up from her chair to hug Olivia. "I'm so happy for you."

Olivia wasn't sure what reaction she'd expected when she announced her news to her coworkers, but she hadn't anticipated this. She returned Amanda's hug, still completely unaccustomed to these displays of girlish enthusiasm in the boys'-club atmosphere of the precinct. But compared to the awkward reactions on the faces of the other detectives gathered around her, the excitement was a welcome distraction.

"When? How soon? Do you have a ring?" It all came out in a rush, even as Amanda grabbed her left hand to check that last detail for herself.

"Whoa," Olivia laughed. "I proposed over the weekend, in Connecticut. Alex has a ring—I'm sure she'll be happy to show it off when she sees you. I'll get one eventually."

"And the wedding?"

"That..." Olivia trailed off. "Not decided yet. But soon."

"Good." The voice was Cragen's. Olivia hadn't realized he was even back from his meeting with the Chief of D's. She'd planned to tell him privately, and she turned to him, not sure what to expect.

"Captain, I..."

"You've waited long enough, Benson," he said. "Get her down the aisle before some other god-forsaken calamity befalls you." He walked past the group toward his office, muttering: Star-crossed lovers. Cragen's unexpected pass-through seemed to jolt everyone else into action, and Fin stepped toward Olivia first, arms wide open.

"I'm happy for you, baby," he said. "You deserve it, both of ya."

John, too, gave her a big hug and a quiet Mazel Tov, while Nick, the most reserved of the group, simply shook his head at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Cabot, huh?" he asked. "Like, making it all legal, and stuff?"

"Yes," she answered. She didn't know what else to say. He and Alex had had a few run-ins, his first few months at the 1-6. She didn't really know if he'd ever gotten over being put in his place by the ADA.

"She's a handful." His voice was steady, even—no hint of a laugh.

"That she is."

"So are you, though," he added. "So there's that."

"Some have said that," Olivia allowed, sitting at her desk but never breaking eye contact with her partner. She was acutely aware that everyone else had returned to their own desks, but were also quietly watching, trying to figure out what Nick was thinking.

It shouldn't matter, but it did. A partnership is a volatile thing, and anything—a marriage, a divorce, a birth, a death—could derail it suddenly and unexpectedly. The fact that Nick was paying a lawyer to end a marriage he'd wanted to save, while Olivia was planning to formalize a relationship that had no business surviving all the blows it had absorbed...it could cement their bond, or end it.

Nick sat now, too, still staring across the desk at her. "You wanna spend forever getting your balls busted by that piece of work?" He shook his head again. "Your funeral, partner, not mine."

He put his head down, immediately began rifling through whatever was on top of the ubiquitous pile on his desk. She did the same, not sure if she wanted to have it out with him or let him stew. A minute passed, then two, before she heard his voice again.

"Benson," he barked, his voice more forceful than normal and startlingly loud in the unusually quiet bullpen. She looked up, eyes blazing, and opened her mouth to invite him to step into an interview room. The brilliant smile on his face stopped her cold. "Congratulations," he said, with a wink. "Mrs. Cabot."

Everyone laughed, and she threw a handful of paper clips at him before finally giving in and joining them. He was up and around the desk, hugging her, and the usual chatter picked up around them.

"You guys had me going for a minute," she said. "What was with the silent treatment?"

"We weren't really shocked that you'd proposed to Cabot," Munch explained. "We just weren't sure you'd ever actually settle down with anyone."

"Hey," Fin interjected. "They're not at the altar yet. Wanna get a pool going?"

"Y'all are horrible," Rollins told them. "Be happy for her."

"Oh, we are," said Nick. "But..."

"No buts," John said. "And no will-they-won't-they pool, either. That hasn't worked out well for me in the past." His smile was rueful.

Olivia stepped over and put her arm around him. "Pick the will-they option, John," she advised. "There's no way I'm letting her get away again."

The joking was interrupted once more by Don Cragen, changed now out of his uniform and hailing Olivia from his office doorway.

"Benson, my office" he commanded. "The rest of you, I suppose the criminals are all wintering in Palm Beach? Get busy doing what the city pays you for."

"Now it really is your funeral," Amaro spoke in a low voice as Olivia passed by on her way across the room.

She entered Cragen's office to find him seated behind his desk. "Captain," she began.

"Close the door, Detective. Have a seat." He kept his head down, so she sat, waiting a moment before he finally met her eyes. His expression was unreadable. " Your news has the squadroom in a jovial mood. "

"Captain, I had every intention of telling you privately..."

"Are you under the impression that I'm less than happy?"

His face still gave nothing away, and if she were to answer honestly, she'd have to say yes, that's exactly the impression she was under. But maybe honesty was the best policy right now. "I'm not sure."

"Olivia, I couldn't be happier," he said. He still wasn't smiling, but she recognized the fatherly tone in his voice from so many other conversations they'd had over the years. "But..."

"But?" she asked.

"We have a serious matter to discuss."

"We do?"

"Yes, we do," he replied, and his face mimicked the grave tone in his voice. "I have a lecture to give you. "

"For...what, exactly, Captain?" She was baffled.

"I've known you both a very long time. I need to be sure that your intentions toward Alex are entirely honorable."

She laughed. "They are, absolutely," she said. "But something seems backward here. Shouldn't you be giving her the lecture?"

He smiled at her, a huge smile that covered his entire face. "I already have."

"What?" Olivia practically spluttered. "When?"

"When she left SVU last year for Major Case," he said. "When I knew you two were involved, I took her out for a good-luck lunch and read her the riot act at Gramercy Terrace. It was very fitting—our first meeting was over breakfast there. To be honest, it was a lecture I thought I might never get to deliver."

Olivia was quiet for a minute. "What did you tell her?" she finally asked.

"I told her that I couldn't think more highly of either of you, but that if she didn't do right by you, she'd be dealing with me. I could make being in contempt with Judge Petrovsky feel like a day at Coney Island." He paused, watching as his detective seemed to waver between laughter and tears. "Liv, I wish you both nothing but the best, and I know you'll have a long and happy life together. It couldn't have happened to two more wonderful, dedicated, stubborn or difficult people."

She smiled as she stood up, but his joke didn't entirely blunt the emotion of the moment. "Your blessing means more to me than you could know," she said. "My mom..."

"She'd be proud, Olivia," he interrupted. "Damn proud."

"Thank you," she replied, blinking back a quick tear.

"Now," he began. "Is it too much to ask you to squeeze in a little police work before the endless parade of dress fittings and bridal showers begins?"

"No," she laughed, and stood, crossing to the door. Hand on the doorknob, she looked at him. "Alex never said a word about having breakfast with you. I had no idea." Olivia was halfway out the door when he spoke.

"Some detective you are, Benson. And to think the Chief of D's was talking to me about you taking the sergeant's exam."

"What?" Olivia wondered how many more surprises she was in for today.

"That's a topic for another day," he said. "Soon, I promise. Now go on. Let Rollins fuss over you a bit, and then back to work, both of you."

"Yes, sir," she said, as she closed the office door on her way out. She headed toward her desk, with only a moment before the chatter and chaos of the squadroom once again claimed her attention.

Her happiness was multiplying, silently and unexpectedly. She marveled, not for the first time, at the exponential effect Alex had on her, like folding a single piece of paper 42 times to reach the moon.

Olivia had lived her life in a world where all that mattered was what she could corroborate, and verify, and prove. This was entirely new, and she was flying by wire, relying on faith in something she could not touch or see, but which she could definitely feel. She didn't know whether she should be exhilarated, or frightened, or if they were just two sides of the same coin.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

**-3-**

**Sunday, March 3, 2013**

"Sergeant's exam." Alex was surprised, but only because Olivia had never before mentioned any interest in supervisory or administrative positions. "What do you think about that?"

"Well," Olivia answered, "it's not until October 19th, so that's plenty of time to prepare. The first step is applying, then if I change my mind for some reason, I simply opt not to sit for the exam. I think I could pass it. "

"There's no doubt in my mind that you could do it, babe," Alex said. "None at all. But do you  _want_  to do it?"

The Sunday  _Times_  had been pushed to the far side of the dining table, and the calendar and laptop had taken center stage as they drank coffee and began planning their schedules for the next few months.

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it, and not that long ago, I'd have laughed in your face. There's a pecking order in any squad, really. It was Munch, then Elliot, then me."

"And now Elliot's out of the hierarchy," Alex finished her thought.

"Yeah, exactly. And Munch is probably not many years from retirement. Neither is Don really, and I don't see John wanting to take the exam to move up the chain."

"That's not uncommon, is it?" Alex asked.

"No, they don't even give the Lieutenant's and Captain's exams every year—not enough people signing up," Olivia replied. "The power and prestige—and the pay—aren't exactly commensurate with the increased likelihood of bullshit."

"But Sergeant?"

"Well, that's slightly more appealing," Olivia explained. "There's a nice little bump in pay, a bit more responsibility, but without the obligation to dress up in uniform and kiss ass at One Police Plaza every few weeks. The Chief of D's wanted to know why I'd waited so long." She was quiet for a moment then, head down and lost in thought.

Alex broke the silence with a gentle question. "What's going through your mind, Liv?" She ran her hand through the thick, shaggy brown hair that was falling over her girlfriend's face.

Olivia looked up. "I think that so much has changed there in the past year or two—Stabler out, Amaro and Rollins in, all of that crap with Cragen being suspended...you, moving on to new challenges. It's made me think about what's next for me on the job. You know that most people don't stay past two years at SVU. I've been there 14 years, Alex. That's a long time."

"It is, honey," Alex agreed. "Most people don't stay past two years because most people can't last that long. But you have a gift—you, and everyone there. It's amazing, really. I don't pretend to know how any of you do it, day in and day out."

"I wonder that myself sometimes," Olivia laughed a bit. "But it's a good team right now. Everyone brings something to the table, and right now I can't imagine being anywhere else."

"Right now."

"Yeah. That's the thing. This last year has been a stark reminder that it's all up for grabs. Everything changes."

"What's that saying?" Alex asked. " _When everything changes, change everything._ "

Olivia locked eyes with her, but didn't speak for a moment. Finally, she nodded. "Not everything," she said. "But yeah. I think it's time to figure out what's over the horizon."

This would be a big step for the detective, who was careful with decisions like this, and had probably already turned it over in her mind a hundred times. Alex was usually reluctant to encourage one course of action over another, but she had learned that sometimes Olivia needed a little push. "Schedule the exam, sweetheart," she urged. "Figure out the details later, but I think this is the right thing for you to do. I think you're ready."

Olivia finally smiled, relieved to have the decision made. "You know what? You're right. I am ready."

"Good, that's settled. Sergeant's exam in October." Alex wrote the date in her planner, circling it for good measure, then began flipping pages from October back through the summer months, stopping when she reached May. "So, while we're talking about scheduling, think you'll be able to take time off of studying for that exam long enough to marry me and take me on a little trip, maybe?"

"I don't know," Olivia said, pretending to consider it.

"Hey, you," Alex protested. "You'd better have the right answer or this whole day could go south pretty quickly."

"Just teasing, baby. I'm ready whenever you are. But I am a bit surprised, to be honest. I guess I just assumed you'd want a longer engagement."

"Longer than 13 years, you mean?" Alex's wry smile made Olivia laugh.

"Very funny, Counselor." Olivia picked up the newspaper, flipping quickly to the  _Style_  section, where dozens of smiling couples looked up at them from the page. "But does it technically count as an engagement when I fought with you constantly, flirted a little between arguments and then didn't see you for years? I'd like to see the write-up that would get in the  _Vows_  column _._ "

"So damn picky," Alex teased. "And be careful what you wish for. My aunt knows that reporter, and he'd love to tell that story."

"Oh, God, Alex. Please tell me you're kidding."

"I'm not kidding, but I think you're safe. The lead time on that column is pretty long, and Aunt Jean said the same thing I'm sure everyone's told you: Hurry up and do this before something else goes wrong."

"True, I have heard that from more than one person," Olivia agreed. "In fact, it was the first thing Elliot managed to get out of his mouth."

"Even before congratulations?" Alex asked.

"Yeah. You know, I pointed that out to him," Olivia replied. "His response was that the congratulations just went without saying."

"I guess I never realized how many people thought we should have been married 10 years ago," Alex laughed. "So, then definitely no more waiting."

"What have you got in mind?"

Alex's pen landed squarely on the third Saturday of the month, and she looked to Olivia for her approval.

"May 18th?" Liv asked.

"Sounded like a good day for a wedding," Alex shrugged, then continued in a quiet voice. "It's also Evan's birthday."

"Then that's the day." Olivia agreed, knowing it was Alex's way of keeping her brother in mind, making a sad day into a happy one. But she sounded a bit wary. "It's awfully soon, though, honey. We've got a lot of planning to do."

"Not as much as you might think," Alex said, then turned in her chair to face the detective. "Olivia, I don't want to take over, but I wasn't imagining a big wedding. Is that okay with you?"

"Baby, it's perfect. I was never one of those little girls who had a dream wedding fantasy in my head. I did hope that one day I'd be married, but the wedding itself seemed incidental to the process. I just want us to be together, and I'm not really finicky about how that happens. So, tell me what you're thinking."

Alex's relief was visible. "Well, first, no church. No big dress."

"Okay, I can get behind that. Do you have a spot in mind?"

"Astra." Alex's reply was so immediate , and so definite, that Olivia laughed out loud.

"Astra," the detective repeated. "I don't know that I'm familiar with it. Have I been there?"

"You've been there," Alex said. "We've been there, actually, but at the time it was called Saison. It was years ago."

"Ten years ago, at least," Olivia guessed. "I remember that dinner. It was hard for me to focus long enough to order wine, let alone eat a meal."

"That night," Alex said. "I didn't know if you'd meant for it to be a date or just a friendly dinner. I had already spent entirely too much time dissecting and analyzing my feelings for you, and had no idea if you felt the same. Then I saw how nervous you were. No-one gets that nervous over dinner with a coworker."

"Well, maybe if it was a coworker that you really wanted to impress," Olivia joked.

Alex, though, was serious. "That was when I knew I loved you."

Olivia had loved Alex for so long, she didn't know if she could pinpoint a moment, but she was suddenly re-immersed in a memory she'd pushed to the fringes long ago. Hearing Alex recall that evening was like seeing the whole thing from the other side of a one-way glass. "I...Al, why didn't you say anything?"

"I was overwhelmed," Alex said. "I couldn't believe that you felt the same way."

"It wasn't obvious?"

"I'm not the best at reading emotions, Liv, though I suppose I had noticed you liked to stand very close."

"Not as sly as I'd hoped, then," Olivia laughed, and Alex joined her. But it was a short laugh, as Olivia suddenly grew serious again. "That was only a month or so before the Sandoval murder."

"Yes," Alex said. "I thought that dinner was just the first of many. I didn't see any need to rush."

Olivia had by now turned in her seat to face Alex, clasping both slender hands in her own, a silent acknowledgment of the miracle that they'd ever managed to get to this point at all. "Astra, then," she said. "Sounds great, honey. But what if they're booked?"

"I've already checked," Alex confessed. "I was in that neighborhood a few days ago and decided to call them. I was lucky—they'd just had a cancellation. It'll work for 75 people or so, and I can't imagine we'd want more than that."

"You don't waste time, Alex Cabot," Olivia chuckled.

"Other than the 13 years."

"Right, other than that," Olivia said. "Sounds like it was meant to be. So, what else have I missed? I assume you'll have your Uncle Bill give you away."

Now Alex hesitated, seemed to mull over what she wanted to say. "No," she finally answered. " It had occurred to me that you might want Cragen to give you away, and we can go that route if you want. But I think I'm past that point. I'm giving myself to you, Olivia. Finally."

Olivia saw the sheen of tears in Alex's eyes before she managed to blink them back, and leaned in to kiss her lips, just the slightest touch before she leaned back to answer. "I love Don dearly, and he's like a father to me, but he'll have to settle for being the second person I dance with. We've fought our way here, and I'm already yours. No one has to give me to you."

"Then I have just one more request," Alex said. "I'd like to ask Barry Moredock to officiate, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, but how did you you choose?" Olivia asked. "Your uncle, Donnelly, Petrovsky... Manhattan's courtrooms are positively littered with people who'd like to give you a life sentence."

"They've all had their chances," Alex laughed. "I want my uncle to just enjoy the day, and Moredock always knows just what to say. I think he'll do a wonderful job. "

"Plus, he's never suspended you or tossed you in jail, which is more than I can say for most of the other options. Good choice," Olivia said. "And I suppose you'll have Kate stand up with you, so I'd better find a bridesmaid or two of my own."

Now Alex laughed even as she wiped the last of her tears away. "I'm picturing Fin and Munch in taffeta."

"I would pay good money to see that," Olivia said. "But I was thinking about Elliot, minus the taffeta. Probably."

"Honey, that would be perfect," Alex said. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. I've worried you two would never patch things up."

"Like everything else good in my life, I owe that to you, Alex," Olivia explained.

"How so?"

"When you were up in White Plains, and I went to see him...well, I realized he's still my friend, even if he's not my partner. I don't want to lose that. I've already let the job take too many people and too many years from me. If he's willing to do it, he's the person I want to stand with me on the most important day of my life."

"Then it's settled," Alex said. "Who needs a wedding planner? Moredock will marry us on the terrace at Astra. Elliot with you, and Kate with me. All the usual suspects will be invited, we'll have a wonderful dinner inside, dance until we drop, and wonder why we waited so long."

"I feel like you've done all the work, honey," Olivia smiled. "Will you at least let me pick out my own dress?"

"Yes, I'll give you that much," she smiled. "You can pick out your dress, and arrange the honeymoon. And while I can tell you I won't be wearing a 12-foot train, that's all you'll get out of me until you see me that day. I do reserve the right to surprise you with my dress."

"Okay," Olivia agreed. "That I can allow. Baby, I can't wait."

Alex stood and pulled Olivia up from her chair, wrapping her in a huge hug that made Olivia feel completely loved and indescribably happy. The whisper in her ear triggered overwhelming desire. "You don't have to wait for everything, darling. Come to bed and we can start the honeymoon now."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**-4-**

Olivia leaned over to her right, moving the computer and the coffee cups to the end of the table, and turned back to Alex. "I'm not even waiting for the bed."

Alex moaned as their lips met, and Olivia lifted her up and set her on the edge of the table. Liv's hands were on her breasts and the kisses were frantic, as Alex immediately reached down and tugged the grey t-shirt from Liv's waistband, and began pulling it upward. The feeling of Alex's chilly fingers on her ribcage sent shivers up Olivia's spine, and it was a delicious feeling to be sure, but she wasn't about to let her hastily planned seduction be derailed. She pulled her mouth away from Alex's.

"No, no, no," she whispered, grabbing both of Alex's hands and pulling them free, holding them in her own between their faces. She kissed each palm, then every finger, one knuckle at a time.

"No?" Alex asked. Olivia didn't answer right away, though. She took Alex's clasped hands and raised them up over their heads, leaning in to kiss Alex one more time. It was a deep, searching kiss, and Alex leaned forward to maintain the connection as long as she could when Olivia once more pulled back. When their lips were a few inches apart, Olivia finally replied.

"No. That's not how this is going to go." She continued to hold Alex's hands, but took one of her own and placed it gently behind Alex's head, before pushing her backward onto the table. "Now," she said, never breaking eye contact. "Keep those hands up there, honey. Let me show you how eager I am."

Alex just nodded, not noticing the hard wood against her back or the newspaper under her head as Olivia pulled her yoga pants down, grabbing her panties in the process, and threw both garments onto the floor. She felt both cool as the slightly chilly air in the room hit her legs, and undeniably warm as Olivia put a hand on each of her knees and gently forced her legs apart. She moaned loudly as she felt a hot tongue lick the length of her folds. God, Olivia loved how she got so wet, so fast.

"Baby," she said, and unconsciously reached down with her right hand to tangle her fingers in Olivia's hair. But she was obviously too predictable, as Olivia was anticipating her, and reached up to grab her wrist before she could make contact.

"Uh-uh," was all Olivia said, and pushed Alex's hand onto her own belly, holding it there, as she continued to deliver one long, slow lick after another. Her tongue was flattened wide, and covering every inch of Alex, quickly elevating her desire. She lifted up, pressing herself into Olivia, but even this was apparently too much. Olivia pushed her hips back down and stopped her explorations. She looked up at Alex.

"You never learn, do you?" she asked. "Be still, honey, and let me take care of this. I know what you need."

"Okay," Alex agreed, and this time she meant it. She put her arms back above her head, and concentrated on stilling her hips under Liv's mesmerizing attentions. This didn't happen often, that Liv wanted to control everything, and it was admittedly hard for Alex to be so passive. But when she did, it was always, always worth it. Her orgasms were all the more intense for the self-control it took to be so patient, and so quiescent.

Thankfully, Olivia resumed her efforts, holding Alex's legs apart as she pointed her tongue and concentrated on Alex's clit, circling it with a slow, steady stroke. Alex exhaled, a deep breath, which was all she'd allow herself. Playing this little game meant remaining calm, controlling her breathing, waiting until the moment Olivia decided to push her over the edge. At this rate, it wouldn't take long.

Olivia, for her part, knew Alex's body well. Feeling how wet Alex was, she knew without asking the amount of restraint it was taking to not react to the feel of Olivia's tongue. She could feel Alex's heart rate quickening in her femoral artery, a rapid pulse belied by her even breathing. But even that, for all of Alex's self-control, was becoming more shallow, just a little ragged. Olivia quickened her pace, and traced Alex's entrance with one finger. Her reward was just the slightest involuntary movement as Alex felt her adrenaline spike along with her desire.

She wouldn't keep her waiting. "You're so good, sweetheart," she murmured, barely stopping to speak, as she slipped two fingers inside of Alex. She increased the pace and the pressure of her tongue—short licks designed to bring her quickly to the edge. A quick glance up at Alex's face told her she was achieving her goal. It was all she had to go on.

She was thrusting her fingers in and out of Alex at the same pace as she was licking her clit, pushing deep inside and curling her fingers as she pulled out, and still Alex was calm and serene, barely moving. Finally, Olivia raised her head and spoke

"Alex, baby," she practically growled.

"Olivia." One whispered word was her only answer, but her eyes were tightly closed, the strain of holding this in showing on her beautiful face.

"Open those eyes. Please. I need to see you," Olivia implored.

After a few seconds, Alex acquiesced, and Olivia felt heat and longing roll through her instantly at the sight of those blue irises, so dark with arousal.

"I need you to let go for me, honey," Olivia instructed. "Come for me, Alex." She didn't wait for an answer, lowering her head and placing her tongue directly on Alex's swollen clit as she added a third finger. She felt those long fingers in her hair, and Alex's hips raised up as she shuddered with the release she'd so patiently waited for.

Olivia felt her own warmth and wetness as Alex clenched around her. The orgasm was deep, and long, and as it subsided, Olivia slowly pulled her fingers free, and licked them clean. Alex, eyes wide open now, was clearly captivated by the sight and sat up, pulling Olivia into a kiss.

"God, honey," Alex said at last. "That was pretty amazing."

"I'm glad," Olivia said. "Guess I'd better do the breakfast dishes now."

Alex laughed. "I don't think so. Get your ass upstairs. My turn to have my way with you, but I know you're older. Your back can't handle that hard table, darling. You need comfort." She jumped off of the table and moved quickly to the steps before Olivia could react with a swat on the rear. Olivia started to follow, but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of her phone.

"Cragen," Alex surmised from the ringtone. She'd stopped halfway up the steel staircase, and her own disappointed expression was met with a similar one on Olivia's face. One more ring, and Alex smiled. "Get it, babe. Somewhere in Manhattan, someone needs my intrepid detective's services."

Olivia smiled back, never ceasing to be grateful that no matter how many takeout dinners and Friday night movies and Sunday afternoons were ruined, Alex never complained. "Thank you, honey," she said as she was already turning back toward the kitchen counter and her phone.

Long strides got her to the phone by the end of the next ring. "Benson." Same greeting, always, no matter who it was.

"Sorry to ruin your day off," Cragen began. "But we've got a mess in Central Park. I'm gonna need you on this one, Olivia."

"Understood, Captain. What's the story?"

"Just get here ASAP," he said. "We're at the Ross Pinetum. I'll fill you in when I see you." He ended the call without another word, and Olivia stood for a moment, pondering his reticence to give her even the most basic outline of the situation at hand. There were no good cases in her line of work, and call-outs were the worst: those were obviously serious enough that the detectives on duty needed assistance. But when the Captain wouldn't say anything, it was undoubtedly worse than usual. Or, God forbid, higher profile.

"Liv."

A voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Alex walking toward her.

"What's up, babe?"

"A call-out, of course," Olivia replied. "I'm so sorry, honey."

Alex kissed her, then smiled. "It's the price I pay for living with a hero," she laughed. "Now, get moving. Sounded like he didn't say much, which means there's lots he has to say in person. Sounds complicated."

"Probably," Olivia replied. "Those sketchy calls never bode well for an open-and-shut deal, for sure."

Another kiss, then Alex took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the steps. "Now, get upstairs and change. No sense wasting time and brain power here when you could be there figuring out how to catch the bad guys."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Getting there. Bear with me. Thanks for the reviews, and thanks for the endless beta-ing that MB is having to do.**

* * *

**-5-**

Sunday traffic was light, and she was in the park in just under 20 minutes. She clipped her badge to her coat as she got out of the car on West Drive, and walked toward the Pinetum. At the edge of the trees, the familiar yellow tape was manned by a baby-faced uniformed officer.

"Benson, SVU," she told him, though he was already raising the tape for her.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. Struck lately by how young these newbies were, she realized she could be this kid's mom. While the ma'am was a nice touch, it didn't make her feel any younger. "They're just over there, Detective. About a hundred yards, just inside the pines."

"Thanks," she told him, already heading in the direction he pointed. As she neared the spot, she could see a flurry of activity, and Cragen spotted her. Amaro was already with him, and they met her a short distance from the crime scene.

"Olivia."

"Captain, Nick. What've we got?"

"It's an ugly one, Liv." Nick was shaking his head.

"Particularly ugly," Cragen agreed. "And it may be of particular interest to you, Detective."

"Why's that?" Olivia asked.

"Young woman, early 20s, murdered, probable sexual assault," Cragen explained. "Shirt pulled over her face, strangled with a belt."

A dawning awareness changed Olivia's expression. "A belt."

"B35," Cragen nodded.

"But a B35 is a..."Nick began, but Olivia cut him off.

"Anything in her mouth?" Olivia asked.

"Three stripes."

"Damn it," Olivia said. "Goddamn it. Who found her?"

"College kids looking for a dog that slipped its leash. Hailed a parks patrolman, who called for a bus and radioed it in to Central Park Precinct. The responding officer called in the ME, who pronounced the vic dead at the scene. We only got called because Warner was on duty, recognized the belt as our guy's signature. She'll give us a time of death as soon as she can."

"You said she was probably raped, Captain?" Olivia asked.

"Won't know for sure until they do the postmortem, run a rape kit. But once Melinda noticed the belt, she opened the mouth to look for our other telltale item, and then saw that the vic's pants were on backward. She's certain she'll find evidence of sexual assault."

"Pants pulled up," Olivia mused.

"Whoa, what am I missing here?" Nick asked. "You're saying she was strangled with an NYPD duty belt?"

"Yeah," Olivia confirmed. "Strangled with a B35, and a sergeant's insignia stuffed in her mouth."

"Why do I feel like you've both seen this movie before?"

"Because unfortunately, we have," Cragen said. "A few years ago, we had two similar cases, about three months apart. Same MO, same victimology. Benson and Stabler worked it..."

"We all worked it," Olivia interjected. "Followed up a thousand leads, had a few guys under surveillance, but never any serious suspects. And then..."

"Nothing," Cragen finished. "Months passed, nothing. We didn't know why."

"Coulda been anything," Amaro speculated. "Moved on, busted for something else, dead."

"Right, and no way to know," Olivia added.

"Your not-so-serious suspects?" Nick asked.

"All present and accounted for," Cragen supplied. "I've got Fin and Rollins tracking them all down again now."

"So, where are we?" Amaro had a few thoughts on the matter already, but he'd tread lightly here. He hadn't been around to work this case, so he wanted to read the files before he shot his mouth off.

"Where we are," Olivia said. "Is square one."

"We spend way too much time there," Cragen said.

The three of them spent more than an hour at the scene—taking notes, talking with the ME, and dispatching other officers to start canvassing the park. Having done all they could do, they walked back out of the pines toward their cars. As they approached the road, an officer hailed them. He was coming up the path from the south with a couple of civilians in tow.

"Detectives, Mr. and Mrs. Jameson might have some information for you," he said, hooking a thumb back to indicate the man and woman behind him. "We were canvassing and they remembered something."

"Thanks," Olivia said. She extended her hand to Mrs. Jameson, then Mr. "I'm Detective Olivia Benson, this is my partner, Nick Amaro, and our captain, Don Cragen."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the woman said. "I'm Linda Jameson, and this is my husband Eric." Her Midwestern accent meant she was tourist or transplant, but definitely not native.

"The patrolman said you might have some information for us?" Amaro asked.

Now Eric Jameson picked up the thread. "Well, maybe," he allowed. "Keep in mind, he only described a young woman to us. We didn't see a mugshot or whatever." Olivia nodded, silently encouraging him to continue. They wouldn't have shown a photo of a strangulation victim to random passersby. "Anyway, we were picnicking at Sheep Meadow when the officer came over and asked how long we'd been in the park."

"We told him it was a few hours," Linda continued. "We'd rented bikes and brought along a little picnic. We got to the park about 10:45."

"And you did see someone matching the description the officer gave you?"

"We did," Eric confirmed.

"You did," his wife disputed.

"Okay, okay, I did," he said. "But I think you did too. You just don't pay attention."

"What happened, exactly?" Cragen asked, not wishing to waste another minute on this marital song-and-dance.

"Well, we were biking and I had gotten a few hundred yards ahead of my wife," Jameson said. "Right as I crossed the 86th Street Transverse, I saw this young woman jogging, and I noticed her coming toward me from quite a ways because she had on a hooded sweatshirt that said Bon Temps. I went to the Admiralty Law Institute at Tulane a few years ago, and saw that slogan in every souvenir shop I passed. Laissez les bon temps rouler. But this one only said Bon Temps, not the whole thing."

"It's from True Blood," his wife told him.

"What?" he asked her. "What's from True Blood?"

"It's that show with the vampires, you know, the one..."

"Mr. Jameson," Olivia interrupted. "The woman you saw?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he said, turning back to the detectives. "Anyway, I noticed the sweatshirt first off. Then as she jogged past me I thought how much she looked like that girl from those  _Breaking Down_  movies."

"I'm sorry..." Olivia said. " _Breaking Down_?"

"He means  _Breaking Dawn_ ," his wife said. "The  _Twilight_  movies. He's talking about Kristen Stewart."

"Yeah, her," Eric nodded. "Anyway, she jogged on past and I didn't think anything of it until the officer approached us."

Nick spoke to Linda. "Mrs. Jameson, you were behind your husband on the path. Did you notice anything unusual, anyone following the young lady?"

"That's just the thing," she said. "I didn't see her at all. I couldn't have been any more than two minutes behind him, but he described her pretty thoroughly to the officer earlier, and I'm sure I didn't see her."

"She didn't," her husband said. "The path curved right after I passed the girl, and there was a bench on the path. I stopped there to wait on my wife, and when she arrived, she remarked on how rare it was to not pass anyone on the bike paths on a Sunday morning."

"What time was this, Mr. Jameson?"

"It was about 11:15," he said. "Well, wait, I sent a text message to my brother while I waited for Linda." He checked his phone, then turned the screen toward Olivia. "Yep, sent the message at 11:22. It was just a minute or two before that."

"Thanks, you've been a lot of help," Cragen told them. "The officer will take down all of those details and your contact information, just in case we think of any other questions."

"Sure thing, glad to help," Eric Jameson replied. "Sure hope she's okay when you find her."

No-one had the heart to tell him she'd already been found, and was decidedly not okay.


	6. Chapter 6

**-6-**

Alex had returned to the dining room table after Olivia left, and alternated between reading more of the  _Times_  and making some wedding notes on the legal pad she always seemed to have with her. Her phone rang, and she dropped her glasses on the table and headed to the hall table to grab it before it stopped its beeping and buzzing.

"Cabot," Alex answered. She'd expected Olivia's face to appear on the screen, but instead saw a generic NYPD number, and couldn't be sure if it was business or personal.

"Hi, it's me. We're back at the precinct," Olivia answered. Her voice was drained of the happiness from their morning. She filled Alex in on the basics of what she'd learned at the scene. "I'd have been happy to never see this M.O. again, to be honest."

"I know, honey," Alex said, involuntarily recalling details of the previous two cases. She'd been back at SVU for a short stint and had witnessed the detectives' frustration as they chased lead after lead and got nowhere. "No chance this is a copycat, I assume?"

"I'm afraid not," Liv explained. "We kept some details out of the media, you know, and so far this one is dotting every  _i_ and crossing every  _t._  I think this is the same guy."

"Which means it's going to be a long night," Alex said.

"You're psychic," Olivia laughed.

"If I were psychic, I'd be showing up at the station house offering to lead you to the killer," Alex observed. "I just know the life you lead, honey."

Olivia was quiet for a minute, and Alex could hear the ambient sounds of the car engine, and traffic, and a siren in the distance. Always, always a siren, it seemed.

"Al, I don't know..."

"I know you don't, and that's fine," Alex assured her. "I'm here, and if you need anything, I'm a phone call away. Just let me know what's going on, okay?"

"Will do," Olivia promised.

* * *

Alex had plenty to keep her busy, as usual. There was a pile of work she'd brought home that would have lured her into her office eventually, even if Olivia's warm body were still in their bed. She made a cup of coffee and picked up her glasses from the dining room table, before heading down the hall to try to clear some things from her to-do list. She was currently dealing with two high-profile murder cases, which was two more than she would have liked.

She had surprised everyone by deciding to return to Major Case. The DA had assumed his offer to transfer her to Human Trafficking would be a slam-dunk. She would have thought so, too—it was a logical extension of her work with the UN, which had given her a renewed sense of purpose, and the time and space to fully reclaim herself.

But it had also taken as much as it gave, even more so than the worst cases in Special Victims. Only Olivia had learned how deeply Alex was affected: insomnia, headaches, and a pervasive anxiety that hadn't begun to dissipate until a year after her return from Africa. She wasn't sure she could handle it again, and refusing the transfer for that reason alone would've made sense to anyone.

It was her other reason for staying in Major Case that had been unsettling to Alex: she was concerned about how it would effect her career trajectory in the DA's office. She thought she'd vanquished a few long-held ambitions, or at least tempered them, but when it came time to put her money where her mouth was, she simply couldn't do it. Samuels had made it sound like a lateral move, but they both knew that wasn't the case.

So, she told herself that Major Case still offered a lot of unexplored challenges, and that the cases were more interesting. It was at least partially true, but that line of reasoning omitted a fact that was far more germane to her thought process. There was a pecking order—there was in every office, and in every field, but lawyers were even more concerned with rank and status than most—and Alex wasn't entirely pleased to discover that her place in that order still mattered very much too her.

 _It matters too much_ , she thought, opening a file that would easily consume what remained of her afternoon.

* * *

As it neared 6:00, and the sun slid behind the buildings of lower Manhattan and threw shadows across her desk, Alex felt chilled and went to look for a sweater. Olivia hadn't been in touch, which meant she probably wouldn't be home anytime soon, and Alex was loathe to bother her. She found a lasagna Olivia had made and frozen a few weeks before, and put it in the oven, then poured herself a glass of wine.

The legal pad and datebook on the table caught her eye—she'd call her aunt and let her know how their plans were coming. She was serious when she'd told Olivia she didn't want a big wedding, or a lot of fuss, but she'd revel in Jean's doting nature when it came to picking out dresses and menu items.

"Harriman residence." Her uncle's greeting always made Alex smile. It never varied, even if it was his favorite niece on the line.

"Uncle Bill," she replied. "It's Alex."

"How are you, Ace?" His voice was a little more subdued than normal. "Are you and Olivia buried under a pile of bridal magazines yet? I think your aunt has subscribed you to a dozen or more already."

Alex laughed, but didn't have any doubt he spoke the truth. "Only a couple have arrived so far," she answered. "But there may not be time for the rest to be of much use."

"No?" he asked. "That's probably Olivia's sensible influence. Eloping to Vegas, if you're smart."

"Well, not eloping," she replied. "But it will be small, and fairly soon. In fact, that's what I called to talk to her about. I'm not interrupting dinner, am I?"

"No, actually, Jean's not feeling well. I packed her off to bed about an hour ago, and I hope she's sleeping."

"Hope it's nothing serious," Alex said.

"I'm sure it's not," he assured her. "Just run-down. We were in Boston last weekend for her nephew's wedding, and then she co-chaired that Wellesley alumni dinner last night. We just got home this afternoon and she's wiped out."

"Well, I wouldn't dream of disturbing her," Alex said. "Just tell her May 18th at Astra in Midtown. We can discuss the girl-stuff later."

"Nice spot," he recollected. "Anyone in mind to perform the ceremony, or do you need me to call our pastor at St. James's?"

"Well, that's the part I wanted to talk to you about, actually. We're planning to ask Barry Moredock. If you don't mind."

"Mind, Ace? Why would I mind? I know he was your favorite professor."

"Well, I wanted to ask you, but I'd rather you be there as Uncle Bill, and not as Judge Harriman," she explained. "I'm going to need you to spin me around the dance floor. I think that's what Dad would have wanted."

He was silent for a moment, long enough that she looked briefly at her phone to make sure the call hadn't been dropped before she spoke again. "Uncle Bill?"

"I'd be honored, Alex. More than I can say."

"Thank heavens," Alex said. "I had you penciled in as a strong maybe. I'll let Olivia know that at least one thing is now definite. Now, if you'll just pass along the date to Aunt Jean, she and I can get down to the serious business of dress shopping."

He laughed. "No way, Ace. If you think I'm going to do your dirty work and tell her that she's going to have less than three months to hurry and worry over you, you're barking up the wrong tree. You can tell her that yourself, and you'd better hurry before she manages to book St. John the Divine and a ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria."

"Alright, I'll call her tomorrow," Alex sighed. "I hope she doesn't take it too hard."

"You know Jean. Just give her a menu to plan and she'll be fine," he said. "But, Alex...we really are very happy for you and Olivia, you know. I'm not sure anyone will ever deserve you, but she's probably as close as anyone will get."

"Thank you, Uncle Bill," she said. "For all you've both done for me. For being my...for everything." Her voice was choked; he could hear it over the phone.

"No crying, Ace," he admonished. "Save that for your wedding day. Or for when your Aunt Jean finds out she has to stage the wedding of the century in a Midtown restaurant."

Alex laughed, and signed off the call. She made a note to call Jean again tomorrow, and started throwing together a salad to go with the lasagna. Still no word from Olivia, and Alex hoped she'd at least make it home to bed sometime before dawn.

* * *

Seven o'clock found Munch and Benson working the phones while Amaro pored over the files on the previous crimes. He was looking for similarities and aberrations, connections and deviations, not sure what he hoped to conclude. A serial offender—especially one with a cop complex—wasn't a good thing, but if this was the same guy, it could put them that much closer to catching him. Three crime scenes and three victims would give them more to work with than just one.

Cragen refilled his coffee, and turned to greet Fin & Rollins as they returned from a long afternoon trying to account for the suspects from the previous crimes. "How'd it go, you two? Find us a perp?"

"I wish," Rollins said, tossing her coat over her chair and heading for the coffepot herself. "We eliminated six of the nine guys who were questioned last time. One in prison for rape, other five had pretty solid alibis."

"Two of the others look to be covered, as well," Fin continued. "One's in Philadelphia for work, and the other one moved upstate a couple of years ago. We're still trying to verify their whereabouts, though."

"What about the ninth guy?" Amaro asked.

"He's another story," Amanda replied. She was perched now on the edge of her desk, and heard Olivia ending her call, so she waited a moment to continue.

"Someone pinging your radar?" Benson asked.

"Yes and no," Rollins said. "We didn't make contact with the guy—not at home, and not at work. Or, at least, not where the super said he works."

"But that's not all the super said," Fin added. "Guy has a real hard-on for cops. Hates 'em, but wants to be one, apparently. Kicked out of the police academy in Newark seven or eight years ago, then applied to NYPD a few years running, but never got in."

"Gavin Weber." Everyone in the room turned at the unexpected sound of Cabot's voice. The attorney was standing there in running clothes, drinking a bottle of water from the vending machine.

"Sorry to interrupt," she continued, moving to lean against Olivia & Nick's desks. "I remember him from the suspect list. Liv and Elliott thought he looked good for it, but he's a smart son of a bitch. I called in every favor I was owed and a few I fabricated, and still couldn't get a warrant."

"That's the one," Fin acknowledged. "The lady hasn't lost a step. The guy's whole story is squirrely, and I haven't even met him yet. Wanna try for that warrant again, Counselor?"

"Sorry, Fin, but for that, you'll have to call Barba," Alex smiled. "See if he has any better luck than I did. I just stopped by to steal Olivia for a second, if I may."

"By all means, Alex," Cragen said. "She won't take a break for me. Maybe you can get her to grab a bite or something."

"Alright, alright, you win," Olivia said, standing and grabbing her jacket. "I'll go for however long it takes to drive Miss Marple here back home. I'm tired of getting hung up on, anyway."

"If Alex is here, who's hanging up on you?" Munch joked.

"Families of both previous victims," she snapped, obviously not in a joking mood. "Both were happy to tell me how incompetent we are, and Korie Gibson's father took particular joy in pointing out that our inability to find his daughter's killer had now plunged yet another family into what he called an  _endless, debilitating miasma of grief._ "

"Too bad he didn't hang up before he got to all of that," Tutuola joked.

Olivia had started toward the hall, following a few paces behind Alex, but turned around and stared at him. "Did you really just say that, Fin? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I might ask you the same thing, Benson," he replied. "You're not the only one who's had a rough day. Rollins and I talked to every skel in the five boroughs."

Munch had stood and stepped between them, facing Fin. Alex reached out and grabbed Olivia's hand. "Honey, let's go. Let it rest." Olivia allowed herself to be led to the hall, but her anger was evident as they waited for the elevator. Alex tried to comfort her.

"Everyone's tired, Liv," she said. "Fin didn't mean to upset you. He worked those cases too, and I'm sure he's as frustrated as you are."

Olivia punched the  _DOWN_  button, jabbing it forcefully despite the lighted indicator that it had already been called. "I can think of about a hundred other ways he could show his frustration. I hate those kinds of calls, Alex, just hate them. I'll have to go visit them, too, but I didn't want to chance them hearing anything on the news before we told them about this."

"I know, honey," Alex said. She put her hand on Olivia's back and ushered her into the car as the elevator doors slid open.

"And there's no damn dial tones anymore."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked

"When people hung up on you before, you heard the receiver hit the cradle, and then you at least got the satisfaction of a dial tone," Olivia ranted. "Now, it's just silence. If it hadn't been for the uncontrolled fury and the litany of my failures beforehand, I might have thought the call had just dropped."

"Not  _your_  failures," Alex consoled.

The elevator reached the ground floor, and Olivia strode out the open doors toward the exit, tossing her reply over her shoulder as Alex followed. "Try telling Mr. Gibson that, if he doesn't hang up on you first."

As they reached the car, Olivia began to open the driver's door and was surprised when Alex's long arm reached around her and pushed it closed again. Olivia turned to face her. "What?"

"Enough," Alex said firmly. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day, Liv, but I didn't come down here to be the target of your ire."

"Then why did you come down here, Alex?"

"To see if I could grab dinner for you, and to tell you I love you, because I knew I wouldn't see you tonight. But I think I'll pass on the ride and run back home. Maybe I'll calm down by the time I get there."

"Alex, I won't let you run back home in the dark," Olivia protested.

"Then I'll take a cab," Alex countered. "I'm sure you have work to do, and I refuse to waste what's left of this day arguing with you." She rarely raised her voice, but her anger was evident in her tone, and in the tilt of her chin.

"Baby, please." Olivia's tone had finally softened. "I'm sorry. I'm glad you came over. I need to spend a few minutes with you, and get out of there. I'm not thinking straight. Let me take you home."

Alex let her wait for a moment. They were both stubborn, but she understood that Olivia's mood had nothing to do with her. "On one condition," she relented. "Promise me you'll come home by 2:00. Slide into bed and sleep with me for a few hours. I'm afraid this case is a marathon, babe, not a sprint."

The ADA could fight a hard battle, and Olivia was usually her toughest opponent. But this was a front on which Olivia would surrender every time. She would gladly come home, as soon as she could, for even a few hours of comfort in Alex's arms.

"You're right," Olivia said, and reached out for Alex, pulling her close. "It's a deal. Thank you, honey."

Olivia drove toward the apartment, while Alex phoned in a takeout order for her detective to pick up on the way back to the precinct. They chatted a bit, and Olivia was amazed as always how just a few words from Alex could help her to decompress, and to pace herself a bit. She dropped the attorney off at the curb in front of their building, and gave her a sweet goodnight kiss, knowing Alex would need to sleep long before Olivia left work.

All of Olivia's life,  _home_  had been a flimsy shelter, buttressed by longing and loss, but she was startled by how quickly that had all changed. They still had two apartments, but only until Olivia's lease expired. Home was no longer just a word or an idea, but was now a very real and specific place: wherever Alex was. Everything else was just real estate. The job was still an important part of who she was, but even it took a backseat to  _this_. Nothing below that on the list even mattered anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks, everyone, for reading. Sorry it's been slow going. I think things are starting to fall into place.**

* * *

**-7-**

**Tuesday, March 26, 2013**

The first weeks of March slipped away with little to show for it. The detectives at the 1-6 trudged along through snow and ice storms, bookended by a handful of unseasonably warm days.

"Damn global warming," Fin complained as he returned to the squadroom from questioning a suspect over in Hell's Kitchen. He threw his coat over his chair.

"Actually, there is a growing segment of the population that believes global warming is a hoax being perpetuated by the left to effect policy change," Munch averred. "Coffee?"

Fin looked at him incredulously. "How can you drink coffee when it's 75 degrees in March, and we're working in a sauna? NYPD can't get a heating system that's operated on the weather instead of the calendar. And don't even give me that conspiracy BS about climate change."

" _Conspiracy BS_ , huh?" Munch said. "Then how do you explain the findings of the 2012 International Climate Change Conference, which confirm that the earth is actually cooling and..."

"I don't have to explain shit," Fin interrupted. "It's hot as hell outside and you've been reading too much Michael Crichton."

"Y'all are worse than an old married couple," Rollins observed. "And none of that is as important as the fact that we're getting nowhere fast on this rape."

"No luck with Senor Ramirez?" Munch asked.

"Nah, his alibi is good," Fin explained. "The guy's a perp, for real. He's guilty of something, I'm sure, but not this."

"Where are Liv and Nick?" Rollins asked.

"Following up a phone tip on the Central Park case," Munch said. "Probably not worth the piece of paper the desk sergeant wrote it on, but at the moment it's all we've got."

"We couldn't buy a clue right now if you gave us $20 and dropped us in the board games aisle at FAO Schwarz, _"_ Fin joked bitterly.

As frustrated and on edge as all of his colleagues, John fixed his former partner with an exasperated stare. "Who died and made you Lennie Briscoe?"

* * *

The entire squad had been banging their heads against an unyielding wall, getting nowhere on the serial case while dealing with the usual heartbreaking assortment of rapes and assaults. They were working against the clock, and the calendar. Leads from the prior two cases were even less promising this time around: people had moved, or died, and those who did remain were fighting a war of attrition with memories that hadn't yielded much useful detail to begin with.

They were also burdened with the added knowledge that this guy had eluded them before. Two dead women before this one. Two grieving families, and Olivia had, as predicted, been the one to make those visits. Munch had offered to step in and take on that grim duty, but Benson was never one to shirk her responsibilities, or foist them off on someone else. She had been the lead on those cases, and she'd be the one to reopen wounds that had certainly come nowhere close to healing.

Her phone calls had given them a chance to consider the likelihood that the man who'd killed their daughters was active again, inflicting his terror on other women, and other families. While these two families had suffered the same nightmare, the news was received very differently.

Jeff Gibson, Korie's father, had temporarily pulled himself up from the pit of grief to fully commune with the rage he'd worked so hard to vanquish.

"I want this piece of walking evil caught and I want him to rot in jail, where I will mail him a photo of Korie every day until I take my last breath."

"I understand this is very difficult, Mr. Gibson," Olivia said. "I'm sorry to have to bring it all up again."

"Bring it up?" he asked. "It never goes away, Detective. Never, ever. I didn't tell you on the phone—didn't see the point—but my wife died last year. She was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of months after Korie died, and she just didn't have any fight left in her."

"I'm so sorry." It was all Olivia could say. She knew there aren't any other words that can console a man suffering as much as he was. She sat on the sofa, watching him pace, anguish permanently etched into his features. He was a handsome man, tall and angular, but these years had aged him.

Mourning tended to soften people, Olivia thought, made the lines of their faces less distinct, rendered their expressions more malleable somehow. But this wasn't just mourning. When someone is murdered, those left behind to grapple with the void somehow got harder, and more brittle. Jeff Gibson was a case in point.

"She saw the best doctors," he said. "I had good insurance through my firm, fought with them to do even more than they already were." Even as he said this, it was obvious he felt he hadn't done enough.

"How long did she undergo treatment?"

"It was quick, less than two years," he said. "All the doctors in the world can't keep you alive when you've lost the will to get up every morning. In the end, she was relieved to just let go." He sat heavily in the leather chair to Olivia's left, and put his head in his hands. She thought for a moment he would cry.

"You've got to find this guy, Detective."

"We will, Mr. Gibson." She rarely made these promises, but it was out of her mouth before she knew it. "We may need to ask you more questions, try to find any connection between this new victim and either Korie or Bria, see what we may have overlooked before."

Instantly he was on his feet, his mood having swung back to rage just that quickly. "What you  _overlooked,_ " he hissed, "was finding the asshole before he killed my daughter. He'd already murdered the other girl, and you should have caught him. You do whatever you have to do, but I'm not answering any more questions. I've told you everything I know. This animal has taken my daughter, and my wife, too, really. I don't want to see you again until you come to tell me he's behind bars."

"But, Mr. Gibson..." Olivia tried to calm him, but he cut her off.

"You heard me. I'm done discussing this."

She stood, laying her business card on the table before walking to the door, where he was waiting for her. "If you change your mind, or if you think of anything. Anything at all."

"Get out."

As she stepped onto the porch, the door closed loudly behind her, and she heard the deadbolt slide into the strike plate on the door frame. Her day was just beginning.

* * *

Bria Reynolds' mother had a completely different reaction to Benson's visit. Her apartment in Hell's Kitchen was a third-floor walkup and Olivia needed every single step to compose herself. The visit with Jeff Gibson had left her shaken, and she was dreading this one even more.

It was an easier interview, if heartbreak is easier than anger. Andrea Sundermeyer was willing to help, but couldn't recall much more. She did recognize that this new murder might be helpful to the police in finding Bria's killer, but at the same moment she was concerned about the family of the latest victim, asking about them and how they were coping.

Olivia answered her questions as best she could, and after realizing she wasn't likely to get any new information today, she left her card again and excused herself to head back to the precinct. As she drove, she pondered the extremes of emotion she'd seen.

Andrea was a study in raw, unfiltered agony. Neither she nor Gibson had ever made it all the way through Kubler-Ross's five stages of grief, it seemed. He had been stuck in anger, spinning his wheels, while she'd gotten as far as depression before becoming firmly entrenched. Acceptance eluded them both, and Olivia knew it wasn't likely to come until she could catch the bastard who'd killed their daughters.

It wasn't all on her shoulders, of course. Intellectually, she knew that, but their failure to make any headway at all was still gnawing at her three years on. As much as she wanted to find the guy, she'd allowed herself to hope that he was dead, because they'd never gotten any closer than stumbling around, looking for clues that were few and far between.

And here they were again, another murder that was checking every box on this guy's list. The Reynolds and Gibson murders had been three months apart—they didn't know if that was by design, or if the guy was working up to it. It may have just been a matter of opportunity. They didn't have any idea what that meant in terms of a possible pattern.

In fact, the amount they knew was astonishingly little. Olivia had put in an off-the-record call to George in Oklahoma City, hoping to gain a little insight, but a flat, midwestern accent informed her that Dr. Huang was out of the office and  _unreachable_  for at least a week. Profiler or not, Olivia was sure of one thing-his guy wouldn't stop, and the interval between murders was unlikely to lengthen. Everything would escalate—the pace, the violence, the body count, the fearmongering in the press, the terror in the city, and the pressure from 1PP.

As Olivia parked at the precinct and prepared to begin more seemingly useless investigating, she had only one thought in her head, and that thought was a disconcerting one.  _This fucking job._  She was getting burned out, and that's not a good place to be.

_Get your head straight, Benson._

 


	8. Chapter 8

-8-

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Alex was drinking coffee at the kitchen counter when Olivia gathered her things to leave for the precinct.

“Up early on a day off, babe,” Olivia said as she grabbed the travel mug that was ready and waiting. “Thought Jean wasn't coming until later?”

“She's not, but I never see you these days, honey. Just wanted to kiss you goodbye.”

“I'm sorry, Alex.” Olivia set the mug back down, and stepped around the counter to gather her fiancee in her arms. “I haven't been any help in planning this wedding and it's five weeks away.”

“It's fine, you know,” Alex said. “You can't control the cases that land on your desk, and I told you it would be a simple affair, anyway.”

“And that's still true?” Olivia's tone was skeptical.

“It is,” Alex insisted. “I've been pretty busy at work myself, but I've managed to get the major stuff done. I've left just enough on the list so Aunt Jean and I can have an excuse for a few shopping trips and long lunches. She's been a little down lately, and I enjoy spending the time with her. Uncle Bill says she looks forward to these day trips to the city.”

“I'm glad, sweetheart. So, if the major stuff is done, then your dress...”

“Nice try, detective,” Alex laughed. “But I'm not telling you another thing. I already told you the color, so let it go. I hope you're more subtle with your suspects than that ham-handed attempt at information gathering would indicate.”

“Hey, maybe what you call a ham-handed attempt is just another interrogation technique,” Olivia protested. 

“Well, I've heard of good cop/bad cop, but dumb cop won't work, honey. You couldn't seem inept if you tried.”

“Fine, but the color was important,” Olivia argued. “We don't want to clash, right? We did agree that the Times Style section was to be kept away at all costs.”

“True,” Alex allowed. “I hope this means you've got your wedding outfit arranged, and you're not spending all of your precious time conjecturing on my own sartorial choices.”

“Everything is under control, Ms. Cabot.” Olivia punctuated the reassurance with a kiss, before stepping back to grab her mug again, and pick up her keys. 

“Everything?” Alex asked as she busied herself with kitchen chores that didn't need to be done, those hands always in motion. “Even the honeymoon?” She pretended to be disinterested in any possible reply, but Olivia knew better.

“Now you're fishing,” Olivia chided her.

“Or assuming facts not in evidence,” Alex countered. “Maybe you've forgotten your promise to take me on a little trip.”

“I don't forget any promises I make to you. But I'm not taking that bait, Counselor. You'll find out where we're going just in time to pack. As long as you've blocked out the time on your calendar, you don't need to worry yourself over anything else.”

Their short time together ended with Olivia reluctantly heading to the precinct to break rocks for another 12 hours or so. Alex got ready, managing to leave the house in time to meet the Metro North at Grand Central at 10:01. Jean always insisted on taking the first off-peak train from New Haven. Every time Jean called to confirm the details, Alex could hear Bill in the background. 

“Jean, it's ten dollars extra, take any train you like.”

And every time, she was reassured to hear the same reply.

“Bill, ten dollars is ten dollars, and you'd do well to remember that.”

The familiar back-and-forth reassured Alex, but it also made her aware of how much she missed her own parents, and how fervently she wished they could meet Olivia. They would love her, she was sure of that, and the certainty comforted Alex deeply.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Huang finally returned Olivia's call. It had been nine days since she'd left that message for him, and she was momentarily confused when his name appeared on her phone about seven that evening. She was still at the precinct, still making no progress.

“Benson.” 

“Olivia, it's George. Sorry for the delay in getting back to you.” She missed talking to him regularly, but his voice was as calming as ever. 

“Not a problem,” she assured him. “Thanks for calling back. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about,” he said. “I was overseas doing a training seminar for the bureau in a country that shall not be named.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Well, exciting is a relative term, but let's put it this way—it wasn't Oklahoma, so I was happy for the change of pace. What's going on? Is now a good time?”

“I'm in the squadroom, and it's a little noisy in here. Let me step outside and get some air and I can explain.”

They shared some small talk as she made her way downstairs and out of the building, zipping her jacket against the chill in the early-April evening.

“It's a case, George, and I'm obviously making this call on my own, so if you don't have the time or inclination...”

“Spill it.” He cut her off. “I'm always happy to help you, and I know you wouldn't call without a good reason.”

“Thanks,” she said, relief flooding her voice. She trusted his judgement, and admired his intellect. He might not have any answers, but sometimes even his questions could get her turned around and headed in the right direction. She told him the story—he knew of the earlier cases, and she wasted little time laying out the current circumstances, finishing with the issue currently at the top of her list. “It was three months between murders last time, George. I think it's safe to say it won't be any longer this time, and it certainly may be less. Nearly a month is already gone and we're expending a lot of effort but getting nowhere, like trying to walk up the down escalator.”

He asked questions, and she knew he was taking notes. Like Alex, George was never far from a legal pad, though lately his had taken the form of an app on his iPad. 

“Olivia, there's so little to go on, but a few things are obvious.”

“Sure,” she supplied. “White male, late 20s to early 30s, loner.”

“Actually, no,” Huang surprised her. “I think your guy is a little older...late 30s, early 40s. And not a loner. He has friends—or they think they're his friends, at least.”

“They think?”

“This guy tries very hard to fit in, Olivia, and he's successful for the most part. The things he can't quite manage aren't things your average person would notice. He's like a chameleon with a nerve disorder—he blends in, almost entirely. But something about him would always deviate from the norm. He can't fully assimilate into any group.”

“Are you sure, George? We've suspected this guy might be a cop, maybe ex-military. Those aren't cultures where one is rewarded for standing out.”

“That's true, and I think you're on the right path, but I think your guy has tried and failed to play one or both of those roles. He's either been a cop, and lost his job for misconduct, or he's never managed to pass the exam. He thinks he's a square peg that won't fit into a round hole, and he's proud of that, but it's exactly that otherness that keeps him from getting what he wants, so he feels persecuted and misunderstood. You and I both work in environments where we're expected to play certain roles, Olivia, and we both know how hard it can be to do that. He just can't, but he won't take responsibility for the fact that it's his own fault, and not everyone else's.”

Olivia was quiet for a moment, thinking of George, who was unlike any FBI agent she'd ever known, and knew how much of himself he'd probably had to push to the side to be successful. Finally, she spoke.

“Is it the same guy, George?”

“What does your gut say?”

“Yes. My gut says yes, it's him.”

“I think you're right,” he agreed. “What does Alex say?”

“I'm lucky if we're both home to say goodnight, to be honest, so I've had no chance to bother her with this. Major Case is pretty high-pressure, and she's knee-deep in wedding planning. I'm no help with that, and we never see each other.”

“Major Case,” he mused. “I've been wondering why she went back there, after everything that happened.”

“I don't know,” Olivia admitted. “She's stubborn, and I think when she'd had a chance to rest and think it all through, she just wasn't willing to be chased out of that job. You know how she hates to give in. It was bad before she was dragged off to Wisconsin, but her ability to dig her heels in is absolutely unbelievable now.”

“She feels like she gave in by going into witness protection?”

“She does,” Olivia said. “I think she's made peace with it, but it's odd, George. She seems to recognize that was something that was done to her, by Connors or Velez or whoever. But deep down, I think she ultimately feels like she was weak, that she ran away or something.”

“And that's what you think she's doing now, asserting her strength by refusing to leave Major Case?”

“It's the only explanation I can come up with. I mean, Samuels offered her Human Trafficking, something she'd normally grab with both hands, and she turned him down. What else could it be?”

Huang was friends with them both—had been for years—and he thought he might know what else was motivating the attorney. He hoped he was wrong, though, so he kept his speculation to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

-9-

Friday, April 12, 2013

While Olivia had been spending nearly all of her waking hours at the precinct, or following one dead-end lead after another, Alex had been up to her chin in the two murder cases that threatened to drag on until her retirement, plus an art theft case and a healthy dose of wedding planning. 

She and Jean had only had time for the one shopping trip in late March, which had ended with seven dresses considered and rejected at Mark Ingram Atelier, and a long lunch at Astra, so that Jean could see the venue and help Alex pick out some menu items. Olivia had hoped to join them, but no-one was surprised when that fell through at the last minute.

Alex wasn't worried about finding something—she'd know it when she saw it, she figured, and she had more than a month left. But Jean was growing a little frantic that the ADA's busy schedule would result in her wearing a pinstriped Theory suit at her own wedding, and had finally insisted that Alex make the trip to Connecticut for more shopping. While she didn't expect to come home with the perfect dress, it would be nice to see her aunt and uncle, and probably her last chance to get up there before the wedding.

They'd both worked late on Friday evening, and met for dinner at Dojo. Alex's only concession to being home had been removing her jacket before she began to pack. Olivia had managed to leave both her badge and service weapon in the kitchen, and was lying on her side on the bed, head resting on her left hand as she lazily observed Alex's frenetic activity. “Bridal gowns are a big thing in New Haven, huh?” 

“Of course, darling,” Alex had replied. “Harold's in New Haven is the place for the stylish Manhattan bride, or didn't you know?” She threw her pajamas into the brown leather Brahmin bag, and then slid an outfit into a garment bag hanging on her closet door. 

Olivia laughed, and rolled onto her back, hands clasped behind her head. “No, I'll be honest, I didn't realize southern Connecticut was the center of the bridal universe, but if you say so, it must be true.”

Alex came back to the bed, and moved the travel case onto the floor before climbing on the mattress and perching above the prone form lying there. She placed her hands flat on the comforter, on either side of Olivia's ribs, and leaned over until their lips were nearly touching. “Would I lie to you, Benson?”

Olivia smiled, and reached up with one hand to brush Alex's hair back from her face, tucking it gently behind her left ear. “No, ma'am,” she answered. “You definitely wouldn't lie.”

Alex kissed her, a slow, lingering kiss that was remarkably restrained, considering how little time they'd had together over the previous few weeks. Her current position, straddling Olivia and with her head bent so close that the detective could smell the Davines shampoo and just a hint of J'Adore perfume, certainly wasn't doing anything to help either woman maintain her self-control.

Despite being incredibly turned on, Olivia couldn't resist a chance to tease just a bit. “I saw that demure little sweater and skirt you're taking up there with you, babe. Someone might mistake you for a Yale co-ed.”

“Heaven forbid,” Alex laughed. “The sweater is crimson, though, just to be on the safe side.”

Olivia captured her laughing mouth in another kiss before speaking again. “You can take the girl out of Harvard...”

“But you definitely can't take the Harvard out of the girl,” Alex finished. “You know as well as I do, honey, that co-eds don't dress like that anymore. That sweater and skirt would be right at home in Aunt Jean's college days, I'd think.”

“Or in modern-day New Haven, among the ladies who lunch,” Olivia countered.

“There too,” Alex agreed. “When in Rome.” She cut off any further teasing with another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier than the previous two. 

“Miss Cabot,” Olivia whispered. “Is this acceptable behavior for a woman who's about to shop for a wedding dress?”

The answer came in the form of another hot, wet kiss that went on for a long moment, before Alex's lips slid across Olivia's cheek, and wrapped around her earlobe. Alex nibbled on the soft skin, while her warm breath sensitized Olivia's ear. “You tell me, is my behavior acceptable?”

“Yes,” Olivia exhaled heavily. “More than acceptable.”

Alex straightened her arms, and walked her hands back a foot or so toward Olivia's hips, until she was sitting up. “Let's see if we can find anything else that meets your approval, then.” Her movements were slow, deliberate, and her gaze never wavered. She moved her hands to her own waist, and unhooked her belt, pulling it free with one practiced motion. 

Olivia's breath caught—she never tired of watching Alex, never ceased to be amazed at her own visceral reactions. Alex pulled the tail of her blouse free of the waistband of her navy trousers. There were no broad strokes to paint Alex, no chance you could depict her with a wide brush. She was all singularity and specifics, from the words and gestures that defined her in the courtroom, to the half-inch monogram on the left cuff of every Brooks Brothers dress shirt in her closet. Two small brackets formed a diamond shape enclosing three sans serif letters: a C looming largest in the middle, balanced by a smaller A on the left, and an H on the right. Alexandra Harriman Cabot. The name, and the demeanor, were every bit as starched as the pink shirt she now wore, but Olivia could see that she was dying to let go of that pretense and artifice tonight.

The detective reached up and enveloped the delicate fingers, holding them briefly before pushing them down onto Alex's thighs. It was a movement Alex knew well. She didn't bustle or fidget, but her hands were usually moving, and Olivia had a way of calming Alex by stilling the restless fluttering. With her access now unimpeded, Liv traced her right index finger slowly up the placket of the shirt, hem to collar, feeling the soft cotton as she circled each button in turn. Royal Oxford, Alex had told her. It's softer than the Pinpoint Oxford. Details, so many things she'd learned, and still Olivia felt she had barely scratched the surface. She would willingly forgo oxygen to breathe in the minutiae of Alex.

When she reached the exposed triangle of flesh at the sternum, she lightly fingered the small sapphire necklace the blonde wore nearly every day, a gift on her birthday the previous May. Her birthstone was emerald, but with those blue eyes, only the sapphire would do. She reached up with her other hand, and began unbuttoning the pearly buttons, one at a time. Three buttons down, the shirt began to gape, exposing creamy skin and the lace of a pink bra, just half a shade darker than the blouse itself. 

As she undid the sixth and final button, she pulled the fabric open and immediately placed her hand flat against the soft skin of Alex's stomach. She still hadn't looked away from those blue eyes. She knew them well, and had noticed the color darken just a bit as exhaustion was overtaken by anticipation.

“Everything about you meets my approval, Alex,” she said. “Every. Single. Thing.”

She moved her hands to pull Alex forward onto her, and rolled her onto the bed. They kissed for several long minutes, beginning as a slow and tender reacquaintance and progressing quickly to hard and hungry expressions of need. Clothes were shed piece by piece, replaced by desire as palpable as any garment they'd removed. They talked freely and often about sex, and neither woman held onto any vestige of modesty about asking for what she wanted. But sometimes, words were extraneous, and Olivia just knew what Alex needed. 

She reached to the nightstand, opening the drawer but never losing contact with the body next to hers. She gathered up the harness, and the dildo, and brought them onto the bed. She'd learned to keep them close at hand, for nights like this when Alex was too aroused to wait, but couldn't bear to break their physical connection, even for a moment. And it is always nights, Olivia thought. This type of need never revealed itself if they made love in the morning, or afternoon. When the attorney was tired, and overworked, she was most likely to crave the uninterrupted closeness the harness afforded them. 

Olivia was quickly cinching the black leather straps, and situating the silicone toy in the O-ring. She positioned herself between Alex's knees, leaning over the most beautiful face she'd ever seen. Alex was wet—they both were—and there was nothing to gain by keeping her waiting. She grasped the cock protruding from the harness, and placed the tip of at the blonde's entrance. Lowering her head, she pushed in slowly at the same time she took those beautiful lips in a deep kiss. Alex's moan was low, and quiet, but it spoke volumes: more, and please, and now.

Motionless for a moment, they continued to exchange endless kisses as Alex adjusted to the size and shape inside her. Finally, full but somehow needing more, she ended a kiss to whisper against her partner's lips.

“Liv,” she begged. “Please make love to me.”

The pace never quickened much, but leisurely had its benefits. Olivia's slow thrusts were driving both of them wild, and between kisses and a well-practiced communion of their hips, moving in sync, they were both able to come within a minute of one another.

They lay quietly in the bed afterward, having extinguished the bedside lamp and tossed the harness and toy onto the pile of clothes they'd long since kicked to the floor. Neither of them wanted to move, or to leave this dark sanctuary of cockeyed pillows and crumpled sheets. They fell asleep quickly, Alex on her stomach, Olivia on her side, with a hand resting lightly in the small of Alex's back, the fairer skin there contrasting sharply with the darker, olive-toned fingers in the faint light seeping in between the not-quite-closed curtain panels. 

It was the first night in two weeks that Olivia didn't dream of the nameless, faceless perp whose crimes were consuming her waking life.


	10. Chapter 10

-10-

Saturday, April 13, 2013

The next morning, Alex set out for Connecticut, sacrificing a few minutes of travel time to enjoy the more scenic route up Route 15. She missed having Olivia along, but the peace and quiet of the drive was a welcome respite from a week that wouldn't end. Work was no more frantic than usual, she thought, but she was under constant scrutiny. Major Case handled the prosecution of a wide variety of crimes, but they all had one thing in common: one or another of the city's movers and shakers had some skin in the game, and she spent more time on the phone with politicians and in the DA's office than she'd ever thought possible. 

This is what you wanted, she reminded herself. You could have taken Human Trafficking, and no one would even remember you had an office at Hogan Place. You'd be under the radar.

As the miles rolled by, and the world outside her windows grew progressively greener and quieter, she wasn't thinking about wedding dresses. She was thinking about ambition, and what a tough habit it was to kick. She knew an alcoholic was never really cured, but was always recovering. She felt like an addict hiding a relapse, and wondered how long it would be until be until someone found the empty bottles in the trash.

Her desire for power had waned somewhat over the years, and she'd allowed herself to hope it was entirely gone, but contentment was proving to be an elusive state. Her aspirations had caused a problem between her and Olivia in the past, not because the detective didn't want her to succeed, but because of the single-minded focus that always accompanied her desire to get ahead. It wasn't a relentless drive to get power for its own sake—it was almost more insidious. It manifested itself in an intractable campaign for justice, and blinded Alex to the stark reality that sometimes she had to lose a battle to win the war. 

She had spent enough time in therapy to know herself better at 40 than she had even thought possible or productive at age 25. She knew her weaknesses, and her strengths, and had a pretty good idea of what would push her into one of those fugue states in which she refused to be swayed by common sense, or political instincts, or even her own instinct for self-preservation. Her return to Major Case was a bad sign, and she hoped she could rein this in before Olivia saw it for what it was. 

 

Her arrival in Branford provided a welcome respite from the darker thoughts that had accompanied her on the trip. Bill was happy to see her, and wanted to sit and drink coffee and talk about some decision the state supreme court had just handed down. Jean was having none of it.

“Bill, this girl is getting married next month and we have no dress, so you will drink coffee by yourself while we go to Harold's and try to remedy the situation.” She left them both standing in the foyer as she went out and got into her 1998 Volvo wagon and started up the engine.

“No arguing with that,” Alex laughed. “Guess the purring of the engine is my cue to shop.”

“She's not taking later for an answer,” Bill agreed. “Go, try on a million horrible dresses at that little shop and then find something at Nordstrom next week on your own.”

“Will do,” Alex promised as she kissed him on the cheek. “See you later, if I survive until dinner.” She started out the door, but turned back when he spoke.

“Take it easy on her,” he said. “Make sure to stop for a leisurely lunch. She's been so tired, and she just won't stop pushing herself. We're not spring chickens anymore, all appearances to the contrary.”

“Absolutely,” Alex laughed.

“Really, Ace,” he said. “Keep an eye on her.” His tone worried her, but his smile belied the seriousness of his words, and by the time she was trying on her 11th dress, she'd managed to push the conversation from her mind.

 

“You found a dress?” Olivia's voice was incredulous when Alex reached her by phone after 11 that night.

“I told you I wouldn't lie to you, Benson,” Alex laughed. 

“New Haven really is the epicenter of all things bridal.”

“Well, technically it wasn't New Haven,” Alex demurred.

“Aha!” Olivia's response was a triumphant shout. 

“Alright, you win,” Alex conceded. “And enjoy that, because you'll never hear it again.”

“I'm writing it in my diary as we speak. So, tell me, where did you find the dress to end all shopping?”

“In Branford, of all places,” Alex said. “I'd driven through New Haven to get to their house, then Aunt Jean had me back in her car less than 10 minutes later to go to Harold's. Thirteen dresses there, then lunch, and then a couple of dresses at two other places. She was even more exhausted than I was by 4:30, so we decided to give up and head home for dinner. As we drove back into Branford, we had to detour around a water main break on Short Beach Road. I saw the dress in the window of a little shop on Maple—not even a bridal shop—and half-hour later we were driving back to the house with it in the backseat.”

“That's perfect, honey,” Olivia said. “I'm really happy. That's the last main thing, huh?”

“It is, and two Harrimans are visibly relieved that I won't be marrying you in the nude.”

“Hey, you never heard any objection from me...”

Alex laughed, basking in the happiness of Olivia's adoration, and having found the perfect dress in the perfect place, with the perfect company. She'd fully expected to have to go it alone back in New York, but things had a way of working out, and she didn't realize until she saw the tears in Jean's eyes how much this moment meant to both of them. She was only in her reverie for a few seconds when she realized she hadn't asked how Olivia was, hadn't even said hi, really.

“Baby, how was your day?” she inquired. “I hope you got home at a decent hour.”

“Well...” Olivia drawled the word, obviously not eager to flesh out that sentence.

“No, Liv,” Alex said. “Please tell me you're not still at work.”

“We have another one, Al,” she said. It was all she needed to say. Nothing more was required. 

Alex was silent for a moment. She knew what that meant, both in terms of the horror of another crime, and in the added stress and pressure on Olivia and everyone at SVU. Finally, she willed her late-night brain out of wedding land and into ADA mode. “Same MO? Same signature?”

“Same damn everything,” Olivia replied. Her voice radiated exhaustion. “It's him, Alex. And it was worse this time. George was right.”

“He usually is,” Alex said. “Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I knew you were right, but I was hoping against hope that it was a coincidence, or even a copycat.”

“No such luck.”

Olivia relayed the basic details, leaving out the grislier aspects so close to bedtime. She'd certainly have told Alex those things in the squadroom, or Hogan Place, or even in their living room. She never enjoyed inflicting the misery of her job on anyone, but it was the world they lived in, after all. It didn't seem fair, though, to paint such an ugly picture for the sweet girl on the other end of the line, who was tucked up in bed in a peaceful seaside room with white beadboard walls and crisp, periwinkle blue sheets.

“Sleeping in the crib tonight?” Alex finally asked.

“I am, sweetheart. Too tired to even find my way home, I think.”

“Good,” Alex replied. “I feel better knowing you're safe and sound there, and not trekking home at god-only-knows when. I love you, Olivia. Please try to sleep, at least a little bit.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she laughed. “Gotta keep the missus happy.” The few moments on the phone, hearing The Tale of the Miraculous Dress, had been her only happiness since the call came in at 10 am. She would have kept Alex on the line for hours if it would have delayed the inevitable, crushing reality. But Alex needed sleep.

Olivia might catch a few minutes of rack time in the small hours. She took her promises to Alex quite seriously. But she knew she wouldn't really rest until this guy was caught, or dead.


	11. Chapter 11

-11-

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Alex was absorbed in a pre-trial motion when Ellen appeared in her doorway, announcing herself with a quiet tap of her knuckles on the doorframe. The attorney didn't look up—didn't even seem to notice, really. 

She'd just inherited the prosecution of a custodial kidnapping, and she'd had to squint really hard to see it as anything even vaguely resembling a major case. Kidnapping was hers, if there wasn't an interstate or multijurisdictional issue that involved the FBI and US attorneys, but the custodial part would normally have knocked it on to the desk of some other poor ADA. 

This one landed squarely in her office because both kidnapper and kidnappee were heirs to a hedge-fund fortune. Throw in the fact that both of little Jasper Cullen's parents were women, and one of them was an actress and indie-cinema darling, and that the getaway had involved a midtown heliport and a 30-room house in East Hampton—given the fact that it all seemed like a three-month arc on Days of Our Lives and there was no way Samuels wasn't going to assign it to her bureau. 

She and her team were the most experienced—and the best rehearsed—at dealing with the media and the attention they brought to bear on any case that had the slightest hint of scandal. But now, with the trial date nearing, her best ADA had recused himself due to an unforeseen conflict of interest: his on-again/off-again girlfriend was a newly listed witness for the defense.

Alex was immensely grateful that she'd taken her wedding dress in for alterations the day before, because she'd have precious little time now. This trial would likely kick off around the first of June, which meant she'd be racing to finish her witness prep, evidentiary hearings, and opening statements before the wedding, so she could walk off the plane from her honeymoon and be ready to head straight into court.

Ellen knew all of this, and knew the case had just been dropped in her boss's lap less than 18 hours ago, so she hated to interrupt. But she had her orders, so she knocked again. This time, Alex looked up. “Ellen, I'm sorry, am I late for something?

Ellen chuckled. “Not yet, but I am reshuffling your day, I'm afraid. The DA's secretary just called and said Mr. Samuels knew you weren't in court today, and that he would see you for lunch at 12:30 at Gramercy Tavern.” Alex said nothing but fixed Ellen with a pleading look the older woman knew all too well. “It didn't sound like an invitation, Ms. Cabot.”

“Of course it didn't,” Alex responded. “And Gramercy Tavern, too. Wonder what I've done now?”

“Besides being the best EADA and hardest-working prosecutor in New York County?” Ellen asked.

“Whatever we pay you isn't nearly enough.” Alex paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Unfortunately, experience tells me that he doesn't usually take his underlings to a place that nice to hand out merit badges, unless there's a catch. The nicest things he's ever said to me were at the hot dog cart on the corner, but those are always no strings attached. Nonetheless, your praise and devotion more than make up for the slings and arrows of this office, Ellen. I hope to someday be half the person you already think I am.”

“You're a lot closer than you give yourself credit for, Ms. Cabot. I'll stick my head back in at noon or a little after to make sure you're getting ready.”

Alex just smiled her thanks. Ellen knew how easily she could lose track of time, and if she was ever late, she had no one to blame but herself. She'd recently become worried about the looming possibility that Ellen would retire, and had taken a peek at her personnel file. Age: 64. Not a slam-dunk for a condo in Boca Raton yet, but close enough that the mere thought had given Alex a few gray hairs. She was grateful, not for the first time, that blonde camouflaged them pretty well.

She walked into the restaurant at 12:28, thanks to Ellen's dogged insistence that she put her pen down and walk out the door, now. She informed the hostess that she was waiting for someone. “DA Samuels is already here, Ms. Cabot,” the young woman replied. 

“How did you know who I am?” Alex asked. She was no stranger to Manhattan's nicer dining establishments, but this was not one of her usual haunts.

“I've seen you on TV,” the hostess smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “And Mr. Samuels described you, but I have to say, I hope he's just your boss and not your boyfriend.”

Alex tried not to betray her surprise. “Why is that?”

“Well, to be honest, I hope he's a much better lawyer than he is an eyewitness, because he didn't come anywhere close to doing you justice.” The woman blushed, but held her gaze, and Alex smiled. She admired people who could flirt so easily. She'd never been all that great at it herself—if she had been, it might not have taken so long to get Olivia into bed.

“Follow me, Ms. Cabot?” Alex hadn't colored at the initial compliment. Years of courtroom training helped her to hide her reactions very well, but thoughts of Olivia were definitely making her feel a bit warm now. She re-focused her attention on the hostess, reading her nametag in the process. 

“Yes, Caitlin, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

“They're just over here,” Caitlin said as she led the way between the closely spaced tables. 

“They?” Alex could say no more before the table came into view, and she saw twice as many DA's as she had expected to be dining with. Colin Samuels was deep in conversation with Jack McCoy, who Alex hadn't seen in over a year. Both men stood as she reached the table, good manners trumping business etiquette. She was clearly the most junior among them, both chronologically and professionally, but men of their genearations had been raised to stand for a lady. Even in her most businesslike mien, there was no denying her feminine allure. She offered her hand and both men shook it in turn before they all sat down.

“I haven't seen you in so long, Jack.” She was increasingly unsure of the reason for this meeting, and preferred to ease her way into things, if possible. “I hope retirement is treating you well.”

“It's a pleasure to see you, Alex,” he replied. “I am doing well, thank you.”

Samuels laughed. “He is doing well, but he's hardly retired. Old Jack here has been doing a little freelancing with the US Attorney's offices, and teaching a couple of classes at NYU Law.”

“That does sound a bit like you're still working full time, Jack,” Alex agreed.

“Well, it does keep me busy, but after a barrage of fastballs and sliders, an off-speed pitch now and again keeps you on your toes,” Jack said. 

Working in a man's world, Alex had learned to craft a baseball metaphor with the best of them. “Well, I didn't expect you were ready for Cooperstown, but I must say, I didn't expect to see you in the batter's box here today.”

Jack didn't answer, but looked to Colin, and that glance confirmed Alex's suspicions that this was not just a friendly meeting or a working lunch.

“Alex, there's something I want to talk to you about,” Samuels said. “But there's plenty of time. Let's get a drink, order some lunch.”

Alex hated these sorts of games, hated being told I need to discuss something with you, but not now. It drove her insane. She was generally a patient person, and understood well that some things happen in their own time. But when it was a tactic, a ploy to exert control over a conversation or an issue, she had no tolerance for it. The very fact that it was working—that this man was her boss, and could   
make her wait, thereby controlling the conversation—was just an added level of frustration.

They talked about everything and nothing through an overly long meal. Alex limited herself to one glass of white wine with her sea bass, sprouts and squash. She'd have preferred a Knob Creek on the rocks, but it never paid to be too relaxed when an amiable chat could devolve into a display professional or political gamesmanship at any moment. She'd stay firmly on her toes, thank you very much. 

Dessert was offered and dismissed, and coffee was being served before Samuels finally got to the point of his invitation. 

“Alex, I know you were fairly quick to decline a transfer to Human Trafficking, much to my surprise,” he began.

And to my own, as well, she thought, but decided this would be a perfect time to listen more and say less. The DA continued his thought.

“I'm hoping that decision was not simply reflective of a deep love of Major Case,” he laughed. 

“I wouldn't say that it was,” Alex answered a question he hadn't quite asked. She was circumspect, but growing steadily more curious.

“Good, I'm glad to hear it,” he said, stealing a glance at McCoy, who nodded knowingly. “Very glad, in fact.”

“Okay,” she said. She could wait him out.

Surprisingly, Jack spoke next. “Alex, you have a bright future ahead of you, you know. I knew that when Adam Schiff had you cut your very young teeth in the Special Victims Bureau. Not many young ADA's are sent there with so little experience, and so much responsibility. And it had nothing to do with your connections. Schiff told me that personally.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Alex replied. “I've never been ashamed that Bill Harriman is my uncle. In fact, I'm immenseley proud of his record on the bench. But it was always my goal to earn every opportunity I was given.”

“You've certainly done that,” he said. “You must have known there was some chatter in the halls of One Hogan Place, and that ugly words like legacy and nepotism were thrown around by people who didn't really know you. You silenced your doubters with a phenomenal conviction rate, and you stuck it out in SVU far longer than anyone might have guessed you would.”

“I might have stayed longer had circumstances permitted,” she noted wryly. She had been so reluctant for so long to discuss her shooting and subsequent time away, that very few people in the DA's office or NYPD would willingly bring it up in conversation. 

“Yes, well...” Jack trailed off. “It's a tough assignment, sex crimes, and you proved yourself more than up to the challenge.”

“It does have its difficulties,” Alex acknowledged. And then she couldn't resist just the slightest poke at the legendary “Hang-'em-high” McCoy. “Most of the young female ADA's were assigned to your office, which had its own type of complications, as I recall.”

Jack smiled. He might have been angry—other men would have. But he admired her audacity, and knew from experience and reputation that one would never wonder where he stood with Cabot. It was all out there on the table, and that was the best way to work. He knew she had the smarts and the skill to do great things, but he still wondered if she could maintain the facade politics required, conveying enthusiasm for the electorate while simultaneously concealing her disdain for the process. It was tough for even the most accomplished charlatan to maintain that facade. Cabot's bullshit meter had a gauge that was abundantly obvious in her clear-eyed gaze.

Samuels finally spoke again. “Alex, I want to transfer you. It's a bureau chief position, and it's an important one. There are things going on that demand someone with your experience and tenacity. No one in the office can do this as well as I know you can, but I have the feeling you're going to turn me down. I've brought Jack along to help me convince you, to be honest.”

“Colin, we've played around long enough,” she said. “It was a delicious lunch, a lovely glass of Viognier, and I'm sure the lime meringue tart I passed up would have been almost as delightful as the conversation. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious, and more than ready for you to just say whatever it is you brought me here to tell me.”

“Not tell you, Alex,” he corrected. “Ask you.”

He outlined his request, and she almost couldn't believe what he was asking her to do. It was definitely phrased as a question, but she got the feeling this was one of those critical junctures in life, a fork in the road of her career. She could say no, and life would go on. The path would veer off to the left, and would result in a quiet and unremarkable journey. The route he was asking her to take was uphill, and looked like an arduous and rather frightening trek. It could also result in some pretty spectacular views along the way.

He offered to let her think it over, anticipating that she'd get back to him by the end of the week with an answer. He expected that answer to be no. But she had called him by 5:00 that day to accept the offer, and it would have been hard to say which of them was more surprised by that.


	12. Chapter 12

-12-

The young man walked into the Arlington Club at 9:00 on Tuesday night, not sure who he was looking for, what to expect or even why he'd come in the first place. The woman had called him out of the blue, and hadn't bothered to introduce herself. She hadn't said much, really, despite his best efforts to get the details. 

“You've called a number I've had for less than two weeks, asked for me by name, and assumed I'd want to come to the Upper East Side to meet you at some restaurant I've never heard of.”

“Thank you for that summary,” she said. “Will you be there, or won't you?”

“How did you get this number, anyway?”

“That seems irrelevant. I have it, you're the person I intended to call, and we are conversing now.”

“I see no reason to meet you.” He'd had enough subterfuge for one year, and was about to hang up, but a single word held him in check.

“Cabot.”

He was silent, not sure how to respond, as he waited for her to step in and fill the void with an explanation. But she was far too skilled at these types of games to give away one iota more of information than she'd intended. At last, he spoke, and it was music to her ears.

“How will I know who you are?” he asked.

She thought he might be a little smarter than she'd assumed—he didn't press for details, or ask why she was interested in anything to do with Alex Cabot. “Oh, don't worry, Mr. Patel. I know who you are. I'll find you.”

 

There was a couple ahead of him talking to the host, so he had a moment to survey the place. He didn't see anyone who looked like they were waiting for him, but he couldn't be sure. The place was crawling with 50-year-old women wearing $25,000 worth of jewelry. Tables were populated by groups of them in two's and three's, and he now knew where the cougars from his gym went for their evening hunt.

The bar, by contrast, was populated by men of a similar age, gripping rocks glasses and talking business while stealing glances over their shoulders at the women who eyed them like the cuts of meat coming out of the kitchen. This was a pick-up joint for those of a certain demographic, determined primarily by age and socioeconomic status. He couldn't imagine why he had shown up at all.

The host had passed off the couple now, and turned his attention to Dev, who realized with a start that he had no idea what to say. In the singles-bar atmosphere permeating the room, I'm looking for someone might well be misinterpreted. He decided to simply introduce himself, and hope for the best. “I'm Dev Patel, and...”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Patel. Right this way.”

His curiosity was off the charts, but he couldn't ask this man exactly who he was meeting, so he followed a couple of steps back, hoping to get at least a glimpse of his dining companion before reaching the table. 

He was delivered to a table in the mezzanine, and as he passed the giant clock on the wall by the stairs, he looked to the few tables ahead. All were occupied, but only one had a lone diner. Ensconced at the furthest table from the steps was a woman in her late 40s, with a short, ash-blond bob and a gleaming Rolex. She was beautiful, in a rather severe way, all sharp angles and hard edges that gave her a rather avian apearance. 

“Ms. Taylor, your guest has arrived.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” she said, effectively dismissing the maitre d'. Patel had a sudden, inexplicable urge to follow the man back down the stairs, out to Lexington Avenue and into the first cab he could find. But he didn't, for some reason. He stood rooted to the floor, struggling to make any connection. Taylor. Nothing came to him.

The woman didn't stand, but offered her hand. He merely shook her hand, but he suspected she'd have been just as happy to allow him to kiss her ring. 

“I'm Dev Patel,” he offered. 

“I know who you are,” she replied. “I called you, remember?”

He nodded inanely. He suddenly felt like a 14-year-old virgin, unsure of how exactly everything was supposed to go, and how he'd be sure if it went well. She seemed to sense his discombobulation, and took pity on him.

“I'm Madeline Taylor, Mr. Patel,” she began. “And don't bother searching those memory banks of yours. We've never met.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked. It was loud in this place; the barrel-vaulted ceiling created an echo chamber, and it was even worse up here than it had been on the main level.

“How quickly you forget,” she chided. “I told you what I wanted.”

“You mentioned Alex Cabot,” he said. “That doesn't exactly fill in all the gaps for me.”

“All in good time, young man,” she said. “Alexandra and I go way back, and I'm concerned for her.”

“She's just fine,” he replied bitterly. “She came out smelling like a rose. I can't imagine why in hell you're worried for her. I'm the one on probation. In fact, I'm not sure why you called me, but I probably shouldn't even be talking to you.”

“Now, now, my dear Dev,” she said, patting his hand, which was now tapping nervously on the table. He wasn't a formal person, but her use of his first name...it was off-putting somehow. He thought he might be dealing with someone he hadn't fully prepared for. Even her reassurances were unsettling. “We have plenty of time to talk. Why don't we order something and just take it one thing at a time?”

They perused the menu, and he decided on the braised Wagyu beef short ribs. She ordered a Filet Mignon Steak Tartare, and bottle of wine for the table. He would have preferred a gin-and-tonic, but seemed to have left his balls somewhere with his powers of speech, and so said nothing. 

While they awaited dinner, they made small talk, which was to say she found a variety of ways to relay to him all that she already knew—about his education, his family, his career, and his role in the scandal that brought down the Mayor—while revealing exactly nothing about herself. After an hour, a second bottle of $100 Bank Note Cabernet Sauvignon, and a momentary revulsion as he watched her eat the raw meat that the waiter delivered to their table, he still knew nothing more than her name, and the fact that she was somehow acquainted with Cabot. 

Under any other circumstance, he would have left here long ago. But he was curious, and nothing piqued his curiosity or made his blood boil quite like Alex Cabot. He had risked everything—and damn near lost it all—to show her that he wouldn't be another of her mindless minions. He should quit while he was ahead, and he knew that, but still he sat, straining to hear every word this woman said, waiting to find out how it all related to the District Attorney's favorite EADA.

Finally, when he could bear no more chit-chat, and could reveal no more of himself without a little quid pro quo, he asked the first direct question he'd managed to formulate all night.

“I can only assume you've called me because something in the past has caused you to want to bring Alex Cabot down, and you believe that I'll be eager to assist you in that endeavor,” he said. “What exactly are you planning to do to her?”

“Oh, Dev, you silly boy.” She laughed, and her contempt both enraged and enraptured him. “I love Alexandra. I would never want to bring her down, as you so eloquently phrased it. I want to protect her.”

“Protect her from what? She got rid of the mayor, the DA loves her, and she's sitting at the right hand of the throne,” he argued. 

“She's a crusader for justice in a political job,” Taylor explained. “Let's just say, she doesn't always know what's good for her. I think she has the ability to move up very high in the power structure—not only in this city, but the state, and perhaps even in Washington. She can get sidetracked by the many other facets of her job, and that makes her as defenseless as a Christian among the lions. I can help her attain greatness, but she may be somewhat reluctant to accept my help.”

“Well, she damn sure won't accept mine,” Patel said. “Besides, what makes you think I would want to protect her, much less help her to become Senator Alex Cabot? I don't love Alexandra, and that's putting it politely.”

“You don't love her, that's true. Certainly not like I do—no one does. But you do love power, Dev,” she said. “And you do have your own goals. I can help you, too.”

“You seem awfully confident that I'll agree to this,” he said.

“Oh, there's nothing to agree to,” she replied. “Yet, at any rate. Now's not the time, but it won't be long. And when the time comes, I'll tell you what you need to know. I think you will go along, but I suppose only time will tell, right?”

She signaled to the approaching waiter before he reached their table. 

“Put it on my bill,” she told him. “Tip yourself well, Danny.” He nodded, and retreated down the stairs. 

She stood and put her hand on Patel's shoulder as she passed him. “Stay and relax a moment, Dev,” she suggested. “Not that either of us is doing anything wrong, but it might be best if we're not seen leaving together.” She disappeared onto the steps, and came into his line of vision again as she stopped at the downstairs bar and spoke briefly to a bartender on the way out.   
Dev was sitting, absorbing what she had said, and what the implications of that might be, when the waiter, Danny, appeared again at the table with a drink in hand. 

“Hendrick's gin-and-tonic, Mr. Patel, courtesy of Ms. Taylor,” he said as he placed the glass on the table. “She told the bartender it was your favorite.”

Patel thanked the man, and when he was left alone he downed the strong drink in just a few swallows. As he recalled her hawk-like countenance, he felt certain of two things: He was in way over his head, and he wouldn't be allowed to get out if he wanted to. 

A bird of prey, he thought. And I'm the quarry.


	13. Chapter 13

-13-

 

About the time Dev Patel realized he was getting information on a need-to-know basis only, Olivia Benson had already heard more than she cared to. 

Her voice was raised, and she made no effort to hide her anger. “VCE, Alex?”

“Yes, it's the Violent...”

“I know what the hell it is: Violent Criminal Enterprises. More commonly known as the mafia, drugs, guns. Cartels, Alex. Surely you're not considering this.” 

She took Alex's silence for confirmation. “Are you crazy?” Olivia knew as soon as it was out of her mouth that she'd phrased that wrong. No one—especially Alex—responded well to having their mental health called into question. Alex's reply was exactly what might be expected.

“Did you really just ask me that?” 

“Alex, I'm sorry,” Olivia said. Her tone softened, and she dialed the volume down a bit. “I know that you're anything but crazy. It just seems so damn dangerous. I would have thought you'd run as fast as possible in the other direction. I'm shocked that you're thinking it over.”

“I'm not,” the attorney replied.

“Well, thank god for that,” Olivia said. “It sounded like...”

“I've already accepted,” Alex was firm in cutting her off. “I told him I'd do it. I'm going to tie up a few loose ends, hand over the cases I'm working on, and make the move next week.”

“You told him what?” Anger was competing with shock for control of Olivia's reactions. “Without even mentioning it to me?”

“I'm telling you now,” Alex said. 

“Now that it's all decided, you mean. And when you sat in your office after lunch today and made one of your famous pro/con lists, where did my opinion end up? There must be a third column I've never seen. Tell me, Alex...is it labeled incidental, or irrelevant?”

“Oh, Olivia, don't make this all about you,” Alex replied. “This is about my career, not about us.”

“Sell that crap to a jury somewhere, Counselor, 'cause I'm sure as hell not buying it. You're good Cabot, but you're not that good. I think you're starting to believe your own press.”

“I'm going to overlook that jab because I know you're tired.”

“Don't condescend to me, Alex. If I'd slept for a month of Sundays, I'd still feel the same way.”

“I don't understand what you're so upset about,” Alex said. She was uncharacteristically dispassionate, and Olivia sensed it was the result of a concerted effort on the attorney's part. What wasn't apparent was the point of that effort: did she hope to calm Olivia, or to further anger her by refusing to engage? She took a deep breath before speaking. “I'll still get up every morning, and go to the same offices, and prosecute criminals, and come home to this apartment. Nothing about this affects you, Liv.”

“Of course this affects me. You are diving into shark-infested waters. One night, maybe you won't come home to this apartment, Alex, and that most definitely affects me.”

“Have you ever noticed that when you can't fight with a perp or a victim, you always want to fight with me?” Alex's voice was quiet and calm, but her words cut like shards of glass in a spoonful of honey. “Look, Velez and Zapata are dead, and Connors is safe and sound in a prison outside Belfast. Those scores are settled.” 

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Olivia couldn't contain her emotions. She had tried to keep a lid on it, had taken a step back to regroup, but it was suddenly too much. She knew Alex was smart—one of the smartest people she'd ever known—so all of this was clearly just bravado. “Baby, those men all worked for somebody, and other men who are just as bad took over where they left off. There are a lot of people who would just as soon see you dead.”

“Now who's being condescending?”

Olivia was pacing and gesticulating, back and forth across the living room as if being buffeted by a strong wind, while Alex sat calmly, the placid eye in the middle of the storm. “Forgive me, Alex, but this is just beyond my comprehension.” 

“You know what?” the blonde asked. “I'm not really up to this. I'm going to take a walk. I'll be back in about an hour, and if you're feeling better, we can talk then.”

She stood, and gathered up her coat and her phone, grabbing a few dollars from her wallet. She was gone before Olivia could think of anything to say. Though Alex had said very little—all of the bluster and brass had come from Olivia's side—the house was suddenly oppressively quiet. The pacing now seemed silly and unproductive, so Olivia grabbed a beer and took the elevator up to the rooftop deck. She was pleased to find that she was the only one up here.

There was a bracing chill in the night air. Even a warm April day could cool off considerably after the sun went down. She thought of going back for a jacket, but decided that the cooler temperatures might help her collect her thoughts. She walked to the railing, and took a long draw on her beer as she looked north in the direction of the Empire State Building, ringed in white LED lights. 

She didn't know how to feel about what had just happened downstairs. Alex wasn't defiant, exactly—that would imply that Olivia felt she had the right to make decisions for her, and she didn't. But her refusal to discuss this before agreeing to it was definitely not normal. She wasn't sure what buttons Samuels and McCoy had managed to push, but it was scary, and she didn't like it.

After 20 minutes or more spent turning it over in her mind, Olivia was feeling the dampening air seep into her bones. Her thin shirt didn't provide much in the way of warmth, and she still didn't feel like she had any more insight than she'd brought up here with her. What this deck needs, she thought, is a therapist's couch. 

Suddenly, she thought of George Huang, and their conversation a couple of weeks prior. What was it she'd told him? That Alex seemed to feel she had given in by going into Witness Protection all those years ago. Deep down, she'd told him, I think she ultimately feels like she was weak, that she ran away or something.

And here was Samuels, forming a two-man gang with McCoy to offer her a chance to redress the wrongs she'd suffered. They both knew her, and knew she wouldn't—couldn't--refuse that temptation. Her obstinacy was one of Alex's few weaknesses. She hated to surrender. 

Surrender. Olivia thought about that, spoke the word out loud into the air around her, now heavy with rain. Alex had said yes already, and would not rescind her acceptance now. Olivia knew this beyond a doubt, and there was no point in arguing about it. All she'd do was make Alex angrier, push her into a corner where she'd feel her only recourse was to put up walls, and avoid any further disapproval by simply refusing to discuss her work with Olivia. Not knowing the specific danger she faced at any given moment would be even more intolerable than the general possibility that she could come to harm.

Olivia knew she was no better than Alex, no more likely to let go of a case just because it might be dangerous or imprudent to continue. How many times had she been told to stand down? More than she cared to count. 

She had to go to Alex and make this right. She hated that Alex had taken this job, hated it with every fiber of her being, but as Alex had pointed out on more than one occasion, Olivia herself was in danger nearly every minute of every day she clipped on that badge and holstered her weapon. She would stand down. For Alex, she could manage at least that much.

She dropped her beer bottle in a recycling bin on the deck, and got into the elevator to head downstairs just as the first fat drops of rain started to fall. 

 

The detective got out of the elevator in the lobby, and was nearly through the front doors before being stopped by the doorman.

“Detective Benson,” he said, “it's raining pretty hard now.”

“I know,” she replied. “Didn't have time to stop and grab a jacket. I'll be okay.”

“At least take this,” he insisted, offering her a long-handled umbrella in the same maroon as the building's awnings and the lobby carpet. “Ms. Cabot didn't have one with her either. You'll need it to get home without both of you getting soaked to the skin.”

This guy didn't miss a trick, Olivia thought. Some people came to the city for anonymity, she knew, and would have chafed at having their comings and goings observed so closely. Olivia had grown used to it, though, since moving in with Alex. She liked knowing that someone was looking out for her, and for Alex. It wasn't intrusive, really, but these doormen were all very protective of Alex, especially after the incident when graffiti'd threats marked the walls outside her apartment door. Olivia was confident that would never happen again. 

“Thanks, Michael,” she said, taking the umbrella gratefully. “We'll be back soon.”

 

Olivia stepped out of the front door and opened the umbrella before stepping out from under the building's filigreed marquee. She didn't think she really needed the nylon shell over her head—she had a feeling Alex was close by—but she was slowly learning to let people be nice to her. If Michael wanted to keep her dry, she'd play along.

She turned left on the sidewalk, and didn't have far to go. Just next door, at 248 Mercer, Think Coffee was open until midnight, and was a likely place for Alex to have gone. They poured a good cup of coffee and served a grilled cheese that elevated the stand-by childhood lunch to an art form. She couldn't see into the windows from street level, so she ascended the few steps up beneath the brown awning. 

Olivia pushed the door open with her shoulder, closing her umbrella at the same time, and stowing it in the flower-shaped holder just inside the restaurant. The place was still fairly busy, as NYU students studied and laughed at most of the tables. She spotted a familiar blond head, and found Alex nursing a coffee at the bar up front. There was an empty stool to her left, and Olivia took it.

Alex glanced over, but didn't turn her head. “You're early,” she said. “The hour's not up yet.”

“Want me to leave?”

“I didn't say that,” Alex replied. 

Olivia swiveled the stool, turning to her right and putting a hand on her fiancee's arm. 

“I'm sorry, Alex,” she said. “So very sorry. Can you forgive me?”

This was unexpected. Alex knew she had made a rash decision, and was surprised to be offered an apology so soon, and so easily. She put down her mug and put a hand over Olivia's.

“There's nothing to forgive, honey. You're not the only one who needed that time to think. I sprung that on you, and I can't blame you for reacting the way you did.”

“I overreacted, Al,” Olivia said. “It was your decision to make. I'm just confused, you know? I never thought this would be something you'd want. You're risking a lot.”

“I can't live in fear forever, Olivia.”

“I know that, really I do,” the brunette replied. Her voice was measured, thoughtful. “But it worries me that you seem to want to go charging into the lions' den. Isn't there a happy medium?”

“I don't know,” Alex answered honestly. “I'm still figuring that out. I went to Africa to find myself. When I came back to SVU on the Kepler case, I agreed to Jack's request because I wanted to see if I still had what it took, to face down the particular brand of horror you deal with every day in Special Victims, and really, to face all of you.”

“You definitely still had it,” Olivia smiled. “You were firing on all cylinders.”

“Maybe,” Alex said. “I thought I was getting closer to normal, whatever that is. Then I met Nardalee, and realized that I had a lot further to go.”

“I know that was a difficult time for you,” Olivia said quietly.

“It was. Still is, sometimes, Liv. I don't know what I need to get back, and what I can live without. Except you,” she said. “I know I can't live without you.”

Olivia lifted the hand that rested on her arm, and kissed each knuckle. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “I only want what's best for you, you know. Do you understand why I'm so protective?”

“Do you, Liv?” Alex's eyes were clear, and her voice gentle. “I think I understand, but I'd like to hear you explain it.”

Olivia was quiet for a moment, deciding how she could best express something so profound, so fundamental that it had changed her life. She took a deep breath before she finally answered.

“Alex, I've never known what it is to depend on someone else, to know without a doubt that any particular person would be there tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. To take care of me. You know how some people are just born to be parents? Well, Serena Benson was not a natural mother. I suspect, had things happened differently, she'd never have chosen to have kids. But she did have me, and she made it work. She had her flaws, and her failures, but the fact that it wasn't something that was second nature to her makes it even more admirable, I think. Now that I'm older, and have some understanding of what she went through, not just to have me, but to raise me...I'm much more appreciative. I wasn't sure, though, if I'd ever have someone in my corner, giving me that kind of love, or if I'd be able to do that for someone else.

“And now you're in my life, Alex, and it's such a gift. The care you show me, the love you give me—I've come to depend on it. I'd resisted that dependence and that need all my life, but with you, I couldn't avoid it any longer. I didn't want to, really. So, here we are. You've shown me a love so deep I couldn't have imagined. And now I can't imagine being without it. Loving you is like having my heart walking around outside my body, and I'm only trying to protect what we have. To protect you, Alex.”

There were tears in Alex's eyes; she blinked them back before saying anything.

“Thank you, Liv, so much. I love you, and would never take a risk that would cause me to be apart from you. Trust me on that?”

“I do, Alex,” Olivia reassured her. “I do trust you, and I know you'll be careful and kick ass.”

They both laughed, and Olivia threw a few dollars on the counter before they went outside and back to their building. Michael smiled as they entered the foyer, taking the umbrella Olivia handed him. 

They went up the elevator, and took a hot shower together before collapsing into bed. They were both exhausted, and craving sound sleep in a warm bed, curled against soft skin. The weather worsened in the night, and when the thunder boomed and the rain pelted the windows with a sharp, staccato rhythm, Alex began to toss and turn, dreaming of gunshots and explosions.

 

New York County District Attorney's Office  
Violent Criminal Enterprises Unit

The Violent Criminal Enterprises Unit is responsible for the investigation and prosecution of violent organized crime in Manhattan and beyond, including drug-related homicides, armed street gangs, interstate gun runners and narcotics dealers. The Unit’s current principal focus is combating violent street crime committed by gangs, particularly gang shootings, and the possession and sale of illegal firearms. The Unit works with the elite units of the NYPD, as well as with federal agents from Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) and New York City’s joint firearms and narcotics task forces to reduce violent street crime by disarming violent offenders. The Unit was created by the District Attorney in June of 2010.


	14. Chapter 14

-14-

Friday, April 26, 2013

It had taken more than a week to identify the fourth victim. Her body had been found in Riverside Park by joggers, no purse, no wallet, no ID. Fingerprints were run through AFIS, dental records checked against the NDIR. Nothing came up. No one had reported her missing. She had been beaten and strangled, so releasing a post-mortem photo was out of the question. An artist was called in to render a likeness they could share with the public. It was 4 more days before anyone bothered to call in.

That picture on the news? Looks kinda like a bartender in this hole-in-the-wall I used to go to up in Harlem. Touch of Dee, on Malcolm X Boulevard. It's closed now, folded up a couple months ago, but I swear that's her.

He didn't know her name, said he had a regular table and a regular waitress, and she had only been there a month or two before the place shut down. It wasn't much, but it was somewhere to start. Nick finally managed to track down the former owner, who replied to a voice mail two days later by saying he had moved to Florida. “You should go see my brother. I owned the place, but he ran it for me. If he wasn't too busy drinking up my profits, he might remember who worked for him.”

Finally, after a few more calls and a visit, they had a name but no address. Not only had Stanley Richards been cheating his brother by drinking up the bar's profits, he had also been cutting corners by keeping a few of his employees strictly off the books. Samantha was working under the table, and her personnel file was nonexistent. No address, no Social Security number, no emergency medical contact. As they were about to leave Stanley's apartment, something must have burbled up from the drunken haze.

“I took her home once,” he said. “Don't know if she still lived there, you know. Haven't seen her since the place closed.”

“Where was the place?” Nick asked. 

“West 135th, near 8th.”

“An apartment, a house, what? Did she live with family, roommates?” Benson's patience was wearing thin.

He paused a moment, trying to recall something that had happened when he was probably even drunker than he was now. “Brownstone,” he finally said. “Didn't live with nobody. I mean, not like family or nothin'. She was a pretty girl, you know. I gave her a ride, hoping I'd get invited in for some hospitality. She said she rented a room and didn't have much privacy. Probably just an excuse.”

“You'd better remember that address or I'll have the IRS all over your ass before dinnertime,” Amaro threatened. 

“Is this how you treat a sick old man?” Richards asked. A glare from iNick silenced the sympathy ploy. “I don't remember some goddamn address from goddamn January. But I do know it was across from a police station. You and Nancy Drew there oughta be able to find it.”

It was a start. They only had to knock on three doors before speaking to Alojzy Krawiec, who owned a two-family residence. He had opened the door mid-afternoon in boxers and a robe, and other than his name and choice of underwear, he was less than forthcoming. 

“Who?”

“Samantha Kirk, Mr. Krawiec. She told her employer she lived here. He dropped her off one night after work.”

“Which employer?” he snorted. “She can't keep a job. Is that what you're here for?”

Both detectives were exhausted from the runaraound they'd endured just to get here, and they still didn't have anything, really. Benson was less than pleasant. “We're not an employment agency and we don't give a flying fuck if she sat around all day painting her toenails and eating bon-bons. Does she live here?”

“Did,” he said. “Haven't seen her in a week.”

“Your concern for your tenants is touching,” Amaro told him.

“Concern?” He laughed. “I'm not concerned. She took off. So what? Owed me a week and was about to be late on a second. I left a note on her door. Three days later, the note's still there, and I still don't have my money, so I take her stuff out and post the room for rent.”

“It didn't occur to you that something might have happened to make her leave all of her stuff, Mr. Krawiec? You didn't think of calling the police?” Olivia was happy to play bad cop today. “She's dead, you son of a bitch. Murdered. So how about a little cooperation?”

“Look,” Krawiec replied. “People live here, they don't have a lot of stuff. Three drawers full of clothes, 4 pair of shoes, that was pretty much it. Threw the toothpaste and shampoo away, but everything else is in a couple of boxes in the basement. It's all yours. I'm glad to get rid of it.”

They followed him to the basement, and made him wait there while they went through the boxes in the dim hallway. The space had been shoddily subdivided, and there were four identical, closed doors lining an oppressive corridor. 

“Buddy, look, there's no purse, no photos, nothing of a personal nature,” Olivia said. “I'm supposed to believe this is all of her stuff? Which room was hers?”

“This one,” he pointed to the one nearest them. “Go ahead and take a look. Haven't been able to rent it yet. Another hundred-and-fifty bucks she cost me.”

The room was tiny, and depressing: single bed, dresser doing double duty as a nightstand, small wooden table, mini-fridge, microwave and hot plate. One chair.

“Guess the photographer from Architectural Digest didn't have to stay long to take a picture of this crib,” Nick observed.

The owner shrugged dismissively. “Not everybody can afford some big apartment on Park Avenue.”

“Like you're doing some public service.” Nick took a step toward him, and in the low-ceilinged room the effect was menacing. Krawiec stepped backward, and found himself against the wall, with no more room for retreat. Amaro's voice was steadily getting louder. “Listen, this girl is dead, and nobody knows one goddamn thing about her except her name, but you know something, and you'd better start talking to me, or you can talk to the Housing Authority.”

“Why? I haven't done anything but make some improvements to my property.”

“Keep thinking that,” Nick said. “You call this a basement, but it ain't no basement. It's a cellar, and you can't rent out a cellar.”

“Not to mention that you've turned a two-family home into an apartment building,” Olivia said. “And I'm willing to bet you don't have the Department of Buildings' okay on these improvements. So you'd need to remember something pretty quick. Did she have a bank account? Ever mention where she was from? Any mail laying around anywhere?”

“She never got mail,” Krawiec said, his voice resigned. If this was a pissing contest, he wasn't going to win. “I do have a photocopy of a driver's license. In my files upstairs.”

“Citizen of the Year,” Nick muttered to Olivia as they followed the guy back up the narrow steps.

 

The driver's license was from Pennsylvania, bearing a Pittsburgh address. Samantha K. McElroy. Once they were back at the station, they were able to learn a little more. Kirk was her maiden name. She had married Robert McElroy, her high school sweetheart, but they had been divorced a year later. She'd never gotten a New York license, and hadn't bothered to get a new one from Pennsylvania when she dropped her ex-husband's surname. 

“She has no family,” Amanda reported to the group the next morning. “The ex-husband is military, stationed at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. He's accounted for, been on TDY in South Korea for 3 months, according to his mom. DOD backs it up. His mom got hold of him by email, gave him the news and asked him to call us. He answered questions, but didn't have any idea why she'd come to New York, and hadn't talked to her in months. He said he'll have his mom claim the body for burial 'cause Samantha had no family.” 

Rollins shook her head, not even bothering to tell them how upset he'd been. She was a good girl, Detective. Just wasn't ready to be married, hadn't really ever had much family. I tried to stay in touch, because she didn't have anyone else. But she wasn't having it.

“Jesus,” Olivia muttered under her breath. “Can we catch a goddamn break here? This girl was a flesh-and-blood human being, moving around this city, who knew no-one and barely left a fingerprint.” It was unspeakably depressing. She had grown up in New York, and had felt at times like she and her mom were two against the world. But in truth, they had friends, her mother's coworkers, a neighbor or two, and they were not alone among the millions of other souls whose lives ran parallel to their own. Samantha's life was nearly devoid of connections. 

The bullpen was quiet as they all digested the information. Notifying a murder victim's family was always tough, but someone who didn't really have a family? That was almost worse. Cragen, standing by Nick's desk, finally broke the silence.

“There's a connection, people,” he said. “We just have to find it.”

 

After another long day, Olivia managed to make it home by 7:30. Cragen had insisted that she and Nick both leave. “Pretend you've got a life,” was how he'd phrased it. 

 

Olivia had texted Alex to let her know, see if they could make dinner plans. She didn't get a reply, but when she walked in the front door of the loft, she could have cried with happiness to see Alex standing in the kitchen with two glasses of wine. She could smell bread, and see steam rising from a pot on the stove. She walked over, took both glasses and set them carefully on the counter, then wrapped Alex in her arms for a slow, deep kiss.

“Home early, slacker?” Alex laughed when the finally broke apart.

“Honey, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“If that kiss was any indication, I think I have some idea,” Alex joked. “A particularly horrible day, sweetheart, or just typically horrible?”

Olivia picked up her wine and took a long swallow. “Worse than normal,” she answered. “This girl's life was a parallel circuit, Alex. She worked, she slept, she ate, but apparently she was just there. Running alongside every one of the other thousand lives around her, but not wired into any of them. It's amazing to think of how alone someone can be, and it's even worse to realize how many people are probably just like her.”

Alex was leaning against the counter, sipping her own wine. “That is tough.” She was thinking, but not with the intense concentration normally apparent when she was solving a problem. This was a more distracted state, as if she were present in body but not in mind. Her mind had gone back to Wisconsin, to how unconnected she had felt there, how desperately and completely alone she'd been. A couple of acquaintances at work, a man she slept with a handful of times, and little else to speak of. Those memories were the hardest for her to manage when they made an unexpected and unwelcome appearance.

Olivia suspected where Alex's mind had gone, and immediately regretted her rambling monologue on loneliness. Even in her darkest moment, she'd never experienced isolation at the level that had been forced upon the attorney while she was away. 

Away, Olivia thought. That's still how she refers to it, like a vacation abroad or a two-week summer camp.

The detective shifted gears. “Sorry, baby, I don't mean to bring work home. What's for dinner?”

Alex seemed to return from her reverie. “It's ok, Liv,” she said. “I'm happy to talk through anything if it will help. But, first, you clean up while I finish up here. I'm making spaghetti with asparagus and lemon, and we will enjoy a work-free dinner. Then we can curl up on the couch and theorize to our hearts' content, okay?”

“Sounds perfect, honey,” Olivia replied. She didn't want to ruin their evening, but she valued Alex's opinion as much as she valued Nick's, or Cragen's, or George Huang's. Maybe a few minutes spent talking things over would shake something loose for her.

After a long, hot bath and a leisurely dinner, during which they discussed a few details about the rehearsal dinner for the wedding, they did retire to the couch. They sat on either end, legs intertwined on the middle cushion, refilled wine glasses in hand. Olivia gave Alex an out.

“Al, we don't have to discuss these cases,” she offered. “It's not fair to you to bring that ugliness home when we have so little time...”

“Benson,” Alex cut her off. “Have you not been bringing me ugliness for 14 years now?”

Olivia laughed, but had to admit with a nod that yes, she had. 

“Fine, then,” Alex continued. “What's one more evening when we have a lifetime of them? You won't sleep well if we don't talk about it. Hell, you won't sleep well anyway, so let's see at least see if we can make sense of anything before bed.”

Olivia caught Alex up on the details. Victim number three, the one found in Central Park in early March, had been 24 years old, a dancer at The Joyce Theater in Chelsea. Jun Shin had moved here two years earlier, having finished her degree at Skidmore. Home was Utica, where Mom and Dad still lived with her two younger brothers. She saw her family regularly, had a college friend she roomed with in Brooklyn, and was friendly with many of her fellow dancers in the company. There was an ex-boyfriend, but he checked out, and everyone they talked to said the breakup had been an amicable one. 

Victim four, as Alex learned, was Samantha Kirk. Olivia told her what little they knew, trying hard not to belabor the fact that the girl had been all by herself in the world. But it was a hard thing to gloss over, and Alex was visibly affected once again by the thought of Samantha's bleak existence, and the memories of her own. 

“Baby,” Olivia said, trying to get Alex's attention. “She's not you. All that time you were gone, so many people thought of you every day, wanted you back here. At least one person thought so many times about coming to find you, and bring you home, and hoped that you were well, and happy, and safe.”

“I know, Liv,” Alex said, a weak smile on her face. “And that one person is the reason I survived. Because you knew I was alive, I could console myself with the thought that at least you weren't mourning me, and still thought of me as a living, breathing person who might one day be Alex Cabot again.”

These moments didn't happen often, but when they did, Olivia could see them as if they were a physical force, a wind knocking Alex back a step or two until she could steady herself. It always passed quickly, but served as a lasting reminder of a trauma that Liv still couldn't fully comprehend, and that Alex would probably never be free of. After a moment spent collecting herself, Alex resumed the discussion with a series of questions. Olivia became frustrated at how few of them she could answer.

“Bottom line, is none of them had anything in common, Alex, except they were all young women, and all strangled. Otherwise, it's all over the map. They were from tightknit families, or all alone. Huge networks of friends, or no one who even noticed if they disappeared. Black, white, Asian; a struggling bartender and a professional dancer; well-off and hand-to-mouth; college educated and working-class. The victimology is all over the place, he's gonna do it again, and we can't stop him because we don't have a fucking clue what we're even looking for.” 

Alex reached out, and grabbed Olivia's hand, holding it until she had the detective's full attention. “You will get this guy, Liv,” she reassured. “I know how frustrated you are, but I know you, and you've never given up on anything in your life. If you didn't give up on me, then your perseverance is off the charts, honey.”

That earned her a small grin. It was better than nothing.

“That's not the dazzling smile I fell in love with, but I'll take it,” Alex teased. “You've got this, baby. I know you do. Just give yourself the room to think, and something will come to you.”

They got ready for bed, and Olivia drifted in a drowsy twilight, listening to her lover's slow, even breathing. She was buoyed by the faith Alex had in her. It kept her going when every other thing had gone to hell, and she couldn't remember how she'd managed anything before. Before Alex. She'd relegated much of her life to that era, and didn't give it much thought. She gave even less thought to an After Alex era. She'd had some experience with that, and it wasn't something she was willing to go through again. Never, she thought, just before sleep overtook her.


	15. Chapter 15

-15-  
Friday, April 26, 2013

Olivia stood and stretched on her way to get more coffee. It was her fourth cup of the day, part of a vicious circle she was aware of but could not break: too much caffeine throughout the day meant too little sleep at night, and so on. It happened every time they worked a case like this, and every time she swore she wouldn't succumb to it again. It was two o'clock, but it felt like six. She'd slept briefly, and fitfully, dreaming of the four victims, but on every body, she saw Alex's face, dead and alone in Wisconsin.

The phone on her desk rang while she was stirring sugar into her mug of sludge, and Nick leaned over to pick it up. 

“Amaro.” He listened a moment, then said, “No, you've got the right phone. I'll get her.”

He held the phone out to his partner. “Desk Sergeant for you.”

She took the phone and gave him a quizzical look, but his only response was a shrug. “Benson,” she greeted the caller. She immediately recognized Sgt. Gavagan's Southie accent. Had to be close to 20 years in New York, and she'd never heard him pronounce an R except the one he always added to the end of Olivia. 

Yeah, it's Ed, we've got someone down here looking for a Detective Oliver Benson. 

She could hear the laughter he was holding back. 

“Well, tell him...”

Yeah, I know, I'd normally send the crackpot right out on the street. But this one's got a badge. Detective. And it's a her.

“Well, this should be good,” Olivia replied. “Send her up.”

“What's that about?” Nick asked. 

“Don't know. Someone looking for Oliver Benson. Stay tuned.” 

A moment later, a small brunette walked through the door. She was wearing jeans, a black v-neck sweater and high-heeled boots. Her long hair was up in a ponytail, and her gait was quick and confident. Olivia would have pegged her as a cop from 50 yards away. As if on cue, she pulled a badge from her front pocket. 

“Detective Benson?” she asked, but she was looking at Nick. Leave it to Gavagan to send the woman up without explaining that Oliver was actually Olivia.

“I'm Detective Olivia Benson,” she said, offering her hand. “Our desk sergeant has a strange sense of humor, I'm afraid.”

“I'm so sorry,” the woman said, shaking Olivia's hand. “I've either gotten some bad information, or it's time for reading glasses. I'm Detective Kristine Mackey, St. Louis Metro PD.” She showed the badge in her hand.

“St. Louis?” Olivia didn't hide her bemusement. “You're a long way from home, Detective Mackey.”

“Please, call me Kris,” she said. “And yes, I am a long way from home. Close to a thousand miles, I guess, but it feels even further. I love your city, I've never been crazy about your time zone.”

“What brings you here?” Olivia asked. This woman wasn't a crackpot, but Liv couldn't imagine what reason there was for her to be standing in the 1-6, unless there was some interstate police exchange program she hadn't heard of.

“Just a short vacation with a college friend. We're seeing the Zarina Hashmi exhibit at the Guggenheim, and we have tickets to see Macbeth at the Barrymore tonight.”

John piped up from across the room. “Well worth the trip,” he said. “Saw it last week. Alan Cumming was fantastic. And don't miss the Kandinsky exhibit while you're at the museum.”

“I meant, what brings you to the precinct?” Olivia clarified. 

Mackey laughed. “Of course,” she said. “I'm sorry. I suppose I'd rather chatter on about art and theater than the particular ugliness that made me seek you out. Mind if we sit down, Detective Benson? These boots aren't my normal footwear.”

“Not at all,” Olivia said, pulling a chair over from an unoccupied desk. “And it's Olivia, please. So, what can we do for you?”

“You're looking for a serial killer,” she said, and all activity in the immediate vicinity stopped. She now had the attention of all five detectives. 

“What do you know about it?” Olivia asked, careful to keep any skepticism out of her voice. 

“I know that you had a gap of a couple of years, and during that gap I was working three very similar cases in St. Louis. I'm on the Major Case squad there, which is a little different from yours, I think. We're a multijurisdictional outfit covering 10 counties in Missouri and Illinois. And our clearance rate is 80%, but we couldn't crack those murders. We were sure they were committed by the same person. Two were in the city, and in between there was one in Belleville, Illinois. The perp may not have realized that our unit crosses county and state lines.”

“If you weren't set up that way, do you think you'd have connected the murders?” Rollins asked. The detectives had formed a circle of sorts around their visitor, and were listening with rapt attention. They knew nothing more about this woman's credentials than what she had told them, but there'd be time to verify those details later. Now, they were eager for any crumb that might help them find the man the Post was now gleefully referring to as the Madman of Manhattan.

“I think it would have taken us longer, to be sure,” Mackey said. “We might never have realized the second murder was tied to the other two, to be honest.”

“But you don't doubt that they were related?” Olivia asked. 

“I don't,” Mackey replied. “And after reading the news reports this week of your most recent case, I went and did a little digging. I'm sure you've kept some details out of the press, but from what I can see, your four and my three are the work of the same son of a bitch.”

“We've run all of ours through ViCAP, no hits, except to one another,” Amaro said. “And two of ours were before your string, so I assume you didn't get a hit, either. How do you explain that?”

“I can't explain it,” she allowed. “We ran ours, too, filled out all 186 questions on all three vics, and the only hits we got were to our own investigations.”

“ViCAP is a great tool,” John said. “But it does have its limitations. Dr. Maurice Godwin published a study...”

“Here we go,” said Fin, rolling his eyes.

“If you don't mind, Odafin?” John fixed him with a look you'd give a 9-year-old who repeatedly talked out in class. Fin made an elaborate gesture, ceding the floor to Munch with a flourish.

“As I was saying,” he continued, “Dr. Godwin believed that the inherent flaw in ViCAP—or in any similar database—was that the questions themselves lack empirical operational definitions.”

“English, please,” Amaro said.

“The questions require too much subjective input on the part of the investigator entering the information,” Olivia summarized. She had a lot of experience translating John's more esoteric pronouncements for a wider audience.

“Or in other words, garbage in, garbage out,” Rollins said. 

“Well, not exactly,” John said. “The responding officers aren't putting garbage in, of course. But the questions do allow a lot of room for hunches or investigative biases. It is improving all the time, but there are still too many ways the system can fail to link information that would be obvious to any experienced detective who could compare the relevant case files side-by-side.”

Olivia quieted the back and forth with a pointed question to Mackey. “If ViCAP didn't make the connection, how were you able to do so from the information in the papers?”

“Well, I admit I'm not privy to every detail, so maybe I'm making a leap here. But I couldn't fly back home tomorrow without telling you that I think we're looking for the same guy. I don't know why he was here, then there, and back, but I would stake my pension that it's him.”

“Tell me what you know,” Olivia said. And the six of them talked, took notes, and brainstormed for the better part of three hours. 

As 5:30 approached, Amaro stood up and grabbed his jacket, stopping by Olivia's desk. “I hate to leave in the middle of this, but I'm due to pick up Zara in half an hour. Let me know if anything happens.”

“Go get your daughter, and enjoy your day off with her.” Olivia turned his shoulders so he was facing the door, and gave him a gentle push, then turned her attention to Detective Mackey. “And we've kept you way too long, Kris. You have tickets for a show.”

“I do,” she agreed. “And my friend will kill me if we're late.”

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” Olivia asked.

“My flight's not until evening,” Kris replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Never mind,” Olivia waved her hand. “You're on vacation, and you've been more than kind to spend so much time with us. If I think of any more questions, I'll call you when you're back at work.”

“No, you have questions now. We could grab lunch tomorrow, if that would be any help,” she offered. “My friend has a midday flight so I'll just be kicking around until I head to the airport.”

“That would be great,” Olivia said. “Let me just check at home to make sure I'm not double-booked, and I'll call you in the morning to set up a time and place.”

“Perfect,” Kris said, exchanging phone numbers on her way out to enjoy something more closely resembling normal tourist activities.

With Nick and Kris gone, Olivia was left to ponder the implications of what she'd learned. If it were true—if they did have one guy raping and murdering women in two cities a thousand miles apart--it might give them the break they needed to solve these cases.

Her inner voice wasn't as optimistic. It might just be your worst nightmare, Benson. She used her considerable will to silence those thoughts, for now. But that voice, unfortunately, was usually right.

 

Saturday, April 27, 2013

It was a humid spring morning, already nearing 80 by nine o'clock, and Alex persuaded Olivia to go for a run. The ADA had only been in her new job for a few days, but she already felt she was sinking under the daunting caseload. Time together had become an even more precious commodity. Knowing Alex was planning to head to the office for the better part of the day, Olivia would take whatever moments she could steal, even if she had to get up early on her day off to do it.

It didn't hurt that Alex had always been more relaxed, and talked more easily, when she was running. Once they hit the sidewalk and got moving, they weren't in any hurry—it was more about talking and clearing out the cobwebs than any real attempt at exercise. 

“So, Counselor, how is it? You seem to be withholding judgment so far.”

“Honestly, it's just more of the same. Someone's a perp, someone's a victim. Witnesses, evidence, connect the dots. The usual, you know? Just seems like there's a lot more of it.”

Olivia didn't believe a word of that, but her silence was her ongoing gift. She loved Alex, and wanted her to be happy, so she was making every effort to disguise her concern and conceal her worries. She hoped it was working. The detective wasn't religious, but lately she'd found herself praying for Alex's safety, a series of pleas silently and repeatedly offered up like a mantra or a magic spell. Protect my girl. Keep her safe. Bring her home. Protect my girl. Keep her safe. Bring her home.

It played in her head like a soundtrack every time Alex left the house, and was the only thing that kept Olivia from screaming and stomping like a child, begging Alex to leave VCE. She wouldn't—couldn't--ask that. It wasn't up to her. Alex would be safe, or she wouldn't. She'd leave VCE, or she wouldn't. She had vowed not to try to change the attorney's mind, and she'd been sincere and steadfast in that regard. But she wished on every star in the heavens that Alex would make that choice on her own. 

They made more small talk, discussing Kate's upcoming birthday dinner, and a few last wedding details, including an uncle of Alex's who had unexpectedly accepted, and Olivia's brother, who had, predictably, declined.

“Does it bother you, Liv, that he won't be there?” Alex was stealing sidelong glances at her brunette companion, slightly shorter but undeniably stronger, easily keeping up with Alex's long strides.

“Not as much as I'd thought,” Olivia admitted. “I love Simon, and it's nice to have someone in the world who shares some DNA with me, but our relationship hasn't had any chance to really take root. The guys at work are far more like family to me than he is.”

“Speaking of the guys...” Alex began.

“Don't worry, Al,” Olivia interrupted. “I've talked to Elliot, and what Fin keeps referring to as a bachelor party is going to be me, Amanda and all of the guys having medium-rare steak and very rare Scotch at The Capital Grille. Don't worry about us getting into any trouble. There's a much greater risk that we'll end up washing dishes to pay for it all.”

“You'll have fun,” Alex said. “Just make sure it's not the night before the wedding. We're having a lovely rehearsal dinner and a good night's sleep.”

“We're doing it the week before,” Liv reassured her. “Just settling on a day. And speaking of fun, what does Kate have planned for your last night of freedom?”

Alex glanced at her wrist, doing a convincing job of feigning shock despite the fact she wasn't wearing a watch. “Just look at the time, honey. We'd better head back.”

“Hey, Cabot, I don't think so,” Olivia laughed. “Hold up right here and tell me what you have planned.” 

They drew to a stop at a park bench, wiping sweat from their faces in the sticky air. Olivia sat while Alex stood, moving side-to-side as they talked.

“Oh, honey, you know I'm joking,” Alex said. “It'll end up being me, Kate and Aunt Jean, having an early-bird dinner at 5:15 and looking for a fourth for a hand or two of bridge by seven o'clock.”

“I know that'll never happen,” Olivia countered. “You haven't been out of work by 5:15 since a Thursday night in March of 2002.”

Alex stretched a bit, then looked down at her partner. She smiled, and pushed back a lock of sweaty hair from Olivia's temple. “You're right, of course,” she said. “You always are.”

“It's about time you realized it.”

“I never do leave work that early. I'm a slave to the grind,” Alex admitted. “But this time, I'll have to make an exception.”

“Why's that?” Olivia asked.

There was a twinkle in Alex's blue eyes when she spoke. “Because bridge has to be over by 9, when the strippers get there.” She turned and headed back toward home before Liv could even react, laughing over her shoulder at the detective hurrying to catch up. 

They ran at a faster clip on the way back, and that was no accident. Everything Alex did had a purpose, every effort had a desired outcome. In this case, her aim was achieved. She had ten extra minutes in the shower with Liv, and she made very efficient use of every single second of it, taking that beautiful mouth in a deep kiss. 

Alex covered the muscular body with her own leaner frame, bracing her hands against the tile wall beneath the hot spray. The juxtaposition of their complexions created a chiaroscuro worthy of Rembrandt, breasts nestled together, slick with soap and swollen with arousal. Erect nipples brushed one another, and Alex cupped Olivia's right breast, shuddering with desire as she felt the softness and weight of this perfect parabola in her grasp. 

The resulting moans were quickly swallowed, consumed in kisses, as Alex's right hand made a quick and purposeful trip down Liv's back, around her hip and into her curls. The wetness she found there wasn't due to the water rushing over them. She quickly slipped two fingers into Olivia, then easily added a third just a few seconds later. Her thrusts were fast, and hard, and Olivia came, clenching around Alex's hand, their mouths together but unmoving as she rode out the waves of an orgasm that was both long and deep. Alex smiled and kissed Olivia as she felt the last contractions of the smooth muscles that enveloped her. 

It was only a little while, but time was elastic, Alex thought, and an hour spent lonely could seem like days, while an hour of joy passed in the blink of an eye. She had been acutely aware of the passage of time lately, hearing the tick of a clock in a quiet room as loudly as the exaggerated ticking of a bomb in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, and dreaming of Daliesque clocks lining the walls of a long corridor. 

Even as she held Olivia, easing her down from her endorphin high with kisses and whispers and sighs, a Faulkner quote slipped into her brain and refused to leave:

Only when the clock stops does time come to life. 

She'd never stopped feeling a need to make up time, and thought she might finally be gaining ground, slowly but surely eating away at the deficit that had been created when she'd put her life on hold so many years ago. Moments like these, spent joyfully in Olivia's arms, went a long way toward quieting the relentless noise in her head. 

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. 

Muffled, but never completely gone.

 

She should have died hereafter;  
There would have been a time for such a word.  
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury  
Signifying nothing.  
— William Shakespeare  
Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)


	16. Chapter 16

-16-

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Eighteen days after the fourth murder, the pressure to close the case was sitting on the detectives of the 1-6 like an oppressive weight. If they were concurrently tightening the noose on a suspect, they'd bear the burden gladly. But they had spent countless man hours with nothing to show for it, and Cragen was being summoned every other day by either the Chief of D's or the brass at 1PP. He returned shortly before lunch from his latest dressing-down, and he wasn't happy.

“I'm running out of smoke to blow up their asses, folks,” Cragen said. “Somebody help me out. We've got four vics, three families wanting answers, a trail that's more than two weeks cold, one detective halfway across the country who's in on the hunt, and zero suspects. Am I missing anything here?”

“That 'bout sums it up, Cap'n,” Fin replied. “Anybody downtown have any suggestions?”

“Yes, Detective Tutuola, they did,” Don replied. “They suggested that we stop fucking around and catch this guy by dinnertime today, but since that seems unlikely, I guess we'll have to come up with some ideas on our own.”

The detectives were quiet, knowing that Cragen was as frustrated as they were, and had the added pleasure of facing angry men asking probing questions for which he had no answers. Olivia broke the silence.

“Talked to Mackey in St. Louis this morning,” she said. “When she and I had lunch that Saturday, she had mentioned a couple of connections between their vics. I've been checking it out on this end, and called her for some more information. She's talking to her partner, going over files. They'll call back later. Maybe that'll turn into something.”

“Something that links all of their vics?” Cragen asked.

“Nah, not gonna get that lucky,” Nick said. “When we conferenced her this morning, sounds like they're in the same damn leaky boat we are.”

“Yep,” Olivia confirmed. “They've got connections between A and B, or B and C, but not the same connections. Common denominators here between Korie and Jun, and the same thing between Jun and Bria, but then Samantha doesn't figure in it at all. We can find things linking Jun and Samantha, but absolutely nothing with Korie and Bria. If there's something, I'm not seeing it.”

“Keep looking,” the captain said. “Compare notes with our friends out west, by all means, but don't get tunnel vision. I'm not convinced I like our guy for their murders.” 

Olivia didn't respond. He wasn't the only one who felt that way. She and Fin were seeing more similarities than Nick, John or Amanda were willing to concede. She knew better than to be sidetracked by a red herring, but something was telling her this was the same guy. She couldn't prove it—not yet, anyway—but listening to Mackey talk about those cases had given her a familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was working their investigations based on what was in the files, doing all that she could to find their perp, but she never stopped thinking about the notes she'd made on the St. Louis cases, and had called Kris a few times to clarify one detail or another. She'd keep her head down and hope something broke for them.

A uniformed officer handed Cragen a note, which he read quickly and unhappily. “We'll never be out of work, at least,” he shook his head. “Benson, Amaro, saddle up. Eighth grader at PS 172 is in the school nurse's office with an upset stomach and evidence of sexual abuse.”

The world keeps turning, Olivia thought. No matter what happens, or how many people die, it just keeps going.

 

Alex had been the new bureau chief of Violent Criminal Enterprises for about 10 days, and had worked nine of them, but was no closer to seeing the wooden surface of her desk. The cases were all assigned, and her ADAs in this bureau were all savvy, experienced prosecutors. But she still had to familiarize herself with every file, every investigation, every trial, and she had to do it before anything new arrived to claim her attention. 

VCE delivered new cases less frequently than other offices in the Trial Division, but every one they got was a Rube Goldberg machine, thousands of moving parts, bells and whistles, that all served to over-complicate a timeless formula: catch the bad guys, and put them in jail. 

She had made the move without actually moving: Samuels wanted to keep her in her current office, just down the hall from his own, and she wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. With him, she could never tell if she was above reproach or under surveillance.

So the scenery hadn't changed, and Ellen was as happy as Alex that they got to stay put. They'd just had to pack up the Major Case files for transport up to Geoff Dunne's office on the 3rd floor, and scarcely 20 minutes later, twice as many files were delivered to them back in 207 from Dan Kamen's office on the 4th floor.

Shortly after 11, her intercom buzzed. 

“Ms. Cabot, there's a gentleman here to see you.”

“I thought my calendar was clear until two.” Her voice was distracted, and the sound of rapidly clicking computer keys told her secretary that she was taking notes on one file or another. It was all she'd had time to do since last Monday.

“The gentleman insists that he needs to see you, he says that...” 

She heard her doorknob turn just as Ellen's raised voice exclaimed, “Sir, you can't just go...”

Alex wasn't normally afraid for her safety while she was at work. The security in this building was impressively tight, and gave her no cause for concern. But when she turned in her chair to see who was so rudely pushing their way past Ellen's highly effective turnstile, the color drained from her face, and she was anchored to her chair. A foolish instinct was urging her to run, but she couldn't remember how to walk, or even stand. 

The man closed the door behind him, and approached her desk as he sought to calm her. “Ms. Cabot, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's a matter that I could only discuss with you.” She stared at him, voiceless and uncomprehending, and finally he spoke again. “I'll explain why I'm here, but please let your secretary know everything is okay. She's very protective of you, and she'll have a SWAT team up here in five minutes.”

Alex nodded, pressed the button to ring the outer office. “Everything's alright, Ellen,” she said. 

“Are you sure?” Ellen knew her well, and recognized her intonations. The attorney was upset, but not panicked. 

“Absolutely, everything is fine, but thank you,” Alex reassured her, her voice less tremulous with each word. She clicked off the intercom and looked up at her visitor, gripping the edge of her desk tightly to camouflage the trembling of her hands. They just stared for a moment, regarding one another with equal parts wonder and trepidation, before Alex recovered her manners.

“Have a seat, Agent Hammond,” she offered. “What brings you here?”


	17. Chapter 17

**-17-**

 

Alex was doing her best to remain calm, but she was addled, the cumulative effects of overwork combining with the adrenaline rush that was not yet subsiding. Her heart was pounding, the sound of blood rushing through her ears was like a fast-moving river. Her hands were cold, and likely wouldn't stop shaking anytime soon. Relaxing was not an option, but body language was important. She knew this, and forced herself to lean back, holding the leather-wrapped arms of her chair to steady herself in space.

 

“If this is a standard WitSec reintegration follow-up, it would seem to be long overdue.” She was trying to keep the tone light, but he was not one for small talk, or jokes. Never had been.

 

“No, I'm afraid not. Though of course I'm glad to see that you're doing very well: from SVU, to Major Case, to VCE. Impressive career trajectory, Counselor, but that's not why I'm here.”

 

She was doing well, she supposed, but she had no idea what to measure that against. Even though he said this visit had nothing to do with her, there weren't many other things that would bring Jack Hammond to her door. Not one of them was anything good.

 

“I have to confess, Ms. Cabot, I expected a barrage of questions. You're remarkably composed, and uncharacteristically quiet.”

 

Alex didn't respond. She wasn't sure she cared to know why he'd come. He laughed, a quick, short booming laugh that made her flinch slightly. She hoped it was imperceptible, but he didn't miss much. He was sitting back in the cherry arm chair, right ankle resting on his left knee, hands clasped in front of him. Surveying her. It was his job, she supposed, but she hated it.

 

When she'd first joined SVU, a 26-year-old ADA with a diploma that still had wet ink, she'd chafed under the constant scrutiny of so many trained observers. As a litigator, she was also skilled at ferreting out information that way. But it was different, somehow. She was very attuned to signifiers, gestures and mannerisms. She could reliably predict how someone might think or behave, and what words she could say to elicit a desired response or the critical testimony. The detectives in the 1-6, and Goren and Eames in Major Case, though--they seemed to be able to tell who someone really _was,_ and how they _felt_. It had been intimidating and frightening (and in the case of Olivia, exhilarating as well), but she'd learned to handle it and earned their respect in the process.

 

Hammond was another story. She had been in over her head but refused to admit it, and as a result, his partner died. He probably still hated her.

 

His voice jarred her from her ruminations. “As stubborn as ever, I see. Can't say that I blame you, to be honest. Our interactions have never been under pleasant circumstances.” He seemed to be weighing his words, not the type to have rehearsed a speech in advance. “I need your help, Ms. Cabot.”

 

“How can I possibly be of any help to you?”

 

“There's a case pending in your bureau,” he began. “Gary Bannon, a doctor who...”

 

“Orthopedist, practiced on the Upper East Side, professorship at NYU, plus privileges at Lenox Hill and Mount Sinai. Prescribed oxycodone in excessive quantities to a first-time patient with no exam, resulting in death by drug overdose. Probably should have been in narcotics, but he had some small-time hood working as his muscle, so suddenly it constitutes a _violent criminal enterprise._ ” She knew the case. Even after poring over two carts full of files, she hadn't forgotten any of the critical information.

 

“It's not an isolated incident,” Hammond said.

 

“No, definitely not,” Alex agreed. “Our investigation indicates a pattern, but we don't think the other cases are winnable. This one has a body, and that makes it much easier for a jury to reach a guilty verdict. I've got an indictment on involuntary manslaughter, and my best ADA sitting first chair for an August trial date. We'll send him away for three years and take his license on his way out the door.”

 

“A year if you're lucky.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You'll be lucky to get a year,” Hammond repeated. “Six months is more likely. You'll take his license, sure, but as soon as he's out he'll move to Grenada or Costa Rica or Belize and open a practice and send American tourists back home with enough Oxy to kill a hitch of Clydesdales.”

 

“If you're here to question my judgment or cast aspersions on my management of this office, Agent Hammond, you're more than welcome to leave the way you came in. I don't answer to you.”

 

“Jack.”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“I said Jack,” he reiterated. “Call me Jack. We've known each other for a long time, and we're going to be spending a lot of time together, so let's forgo all of the manners and gentility, shall we?”

 

Her anger and frustration were at a tipping point. “Okay, _Jack_ ,” she said. “What in hell are you talking about?”

 

“Bannon is the tip of the iceberg, Cabot. He's a small part in a much bigger machine than you know. He got greedy, and he got caught. It was a break for us. We can use this to bring down a multi-state prescription drug ring that's based here in New York. But we need you.”

 

“If this is a DEA operation, what do you need me for?”

 

“DEA and ATF,” he corrected. “But you have to try this case, for a number of reasons. How you proceed could make the difference in whether or not we can bust and successfully prosecute a twenty-million-dollar narcotics ring that's run by Agustin Bayardo.”

 

“Bayardo.”

 

“Yes,” Hammond confirmed. “Head of Nuevos Reyes.”

 

“Since when is Bayardo's crew involved in prescription drugs? I may be new to this office, but even I know that guns and heroin are their bread-and-butter,” Alex said. “You're trying to tell me that they're in league with Gary Bannon in a multimillion-dollar oxycodone operation?”

 

“Yes, but not just Bannon,” Hammond explained. “We think there are as many as 14 doctors in Manhattan who are involved, and Bayardo and company are using the profits from this little enterprise to fund their more traditional product lines.”

 

“We didn't find any connections. It was just Bannon and his flunky.” Alex was confused. She didn't know what any of this meant, but she hated to be caught by surprise. Having Hammond, of all people, sit in her office and tell her something she should have already known? Her fuse was lit. Somebody's fucking head was going to roll.

 

Hammond leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. “This isn't on you, Cabot. We were working backward from Nuevos Reyes. We knew they had something going on here in the city, but it took us a while to put the pieces together. Your predecessor did triage on this case and obviously shared your belief that it should have been assigned to narcotics.”

 

“Are you saying that Kamen ignored the case?”

 

“I'm saying he didn't prioritize it,” Hammond answered carefully. “We finally made the connection between Bannon and Nuevos Reyes. But they don't know that we've made the connection, and we'd like to keep it that way, for now.”

 

“You want to flip Bannon to bring down Bayardo?”

 

“Not quite,” he clarified. “We want you to prosecute Bannon, just as you were already planning to do. And we'll work with you to bring in one or two of the other players, as well. Everything has to be played perfectly to make sure we're working toward bringing in Bayardo and his lieutenants. Your conviction is important to our case, Cabot, but there are certain strategies you might use that would jeopardize the bigger picture. I'm here to prevent that.”

 

“It's nice to see any federal agency extending itself to this extent,” she noted wryly. “Having this kind of knowledge ahead of time would be immensely helpful to any ADA preparing a case. I'll make sure you're put in touch with the assistant I've assigned.”

 

“You misunderstood me,” he said, choosing for the moment to ignore her jab. Everyone hated the feds, always conducting investigations under the nose of locals and never telling them until someone got too close and risked years of work—or an agent's life--without even knowing it. She had more reason than most to be resentful.

 

“I'm sure I must have misunderstood,” she agreed. “Because none of this is making any sense.”

 

“We need _you_ to prosecute these cases. Sitting first chair, doing the direct and cross examinations, getting a few of the low-level functionaries out of the way one at a time. We will work with you, on this one and on the other conspirators we bring in,” he explained. “We'll brief you fully, keep you advised of our investigation so that you can craft an effective prosecution while avoiding any minefields that might derail our efforts. It's part of a new initiative to cooperate with our partners at the state and local level.” He gave her a look—half-smile and half-smirk—that told her he was aware of how ridiculous it all sounded.

 

Her stare was level and unwavering, but she didn't say anything. Didn't know what to say, really. Was he asking her? Telling her? That seemed more likely, but she'd be damned if she'd give up the game this easily. After a silence that seemed far longer than it was, she spoke.

 

“While your offer of assistance and cooperation is both charming and refreshing, I'll have to clear all of this with the District Attorney,” she said. “I'm afraid I don't have the clearance to authorize this office's involvement in multijurisdictional federal investigations.”

 

“Samuels already knows,” he said. “He offered you this position at our request.”

 

She had a hell of a poker face, he had to hand it to her. It had been there ten years ago, and she'd become even more masterful at hiding her surprise. But he could tell this wasn't what she'd expected to hear.

 

“This is a very important operation,” he said. “Prescription drug trafficking is the single fastest-growing crime the DEA is dealing with. I've been assigned to head up our Diversion Control office, and bringing down Bayardo's outfit will be a big win for us, not to mention that there may be links beyond him that we haven't found yet. The administrator asked me what I needed to get this done. I told her I needed the best undercover agents we had and the best prosecutor in the Manhattan DA's office. That's you, Cabot. I realize this is a lot to ask, but I need you on board.”

 

She'd been set up. _Played_ , as she'd heard Tutuola say many times. Dan Kamen had done a half-assed job on the intake for this case. Samuels had let the feds call the shots, and McCoy had helped him bait the trap. _You said yes, Cabot,_ she admonished herself. _No matter what anyone else did, you said yes, because you're never satisfied._ She had gotten herself into this, and she wasn't about to let Jack Hammond see her back down. She'd let her guard down around him once, because there had been no other choice, but she'd be damned if she would let that happen again. No good attorney offered a plea while she could still talk her way to a conviction.

 

“I'll think it over,” she said. “Where can I reach you?”

 

“Quantico,” he answered. “But there's no need to call. You're going there with me to be briefed. We leave Monday. I'll call your secretary to advise her of the arrangements. You can _think it over_ while we're there, Ms. Cabot.” He tossed something onto her desk, and turned to leave.

 

She picked up the object from atop the nearest pile of manila folders, and turned over the card in her hand, observing a computer chip embedded in one side and the photograph from her Manhattan DA identification card screened on the other:

 

_Cabot, Alexandra H._

_Consultant_

_DOJ-DEA_

_Expires: 12/31/2014_

 

 _2014_? Jesus Christ, what had she gotten herself into? She looked up to see Hammond at the door of her office, turning the handle to exit.

 

“It's Alex,” she called out.

 

He turned and looked at her quizzically.

 

“Alex,” she repeated. “If we're going to be working together, you may as well call me Alex.”

 

He gave her a nod of the head, and let himself out. He was well down the hall on the way to the elevator before he allowed himself the satisfaction of even a small smile.

 

* * *

Olivia was uncharacteristically quiet that night. She displayed none of the intensity or ire she'd expressed when Alex had announced the move to the new bureau.

 

“Say something, Olivia.”

 

“What would you like me to say, Counselor?” Olivia was sitting in the leather armchair, hunched forward and clearly biting back her feelings on the matter, despite her question. Alex walked over and sat on the arm of the chair, rubbing Olivia's back as she spoke softly.

 

“Well, honey, I'd like for you to not call me _Counselor_ , unless you're going to say it in that sexy voice you sometimes use in my office at lunchtime.”

 

Olivia turned her head and looked up slowly. “I'm sorry, Alex, but that seems the most appropriate thing to call you when your job keeps ending up in my living room.”

 

“That's not fair, and you know it. What we do is hard, and we both bring it home far more often than we should.”

 

“These people know exactly how to bait your trap,” Olivia muttered. She stood, knowing she needed to move around a little and work off some of the energy that was threatening to erupt in the form of shouting. She had vowed not to do this, not to question Alex or stand in her way. It was time to walk the walk.

 

“Al, look, I don't want to fight with you. I don't like any of this, but I love you, and I trust your judgment. I know you're doing this for the right reasons, sweetheart. I'm behind you.”

 

“I won't do anything foolish, Liv. I've got too much to lose. I'll go to Quantico, get briefed for a day or two, and then prosecute some cases that were already on my desk,” Alex said.

 

“That's it?” Olivia asked.

 

“That's it,” Alex confirmed. “Forewarned is forearmed. Besides, the feds want me involved as little as possible, Liv, you know that. This is just some kind of bone they're throwing Samuels.”

 

“Samuels?”

 

“Sure,” Alex said. “They think he's going to be the Attorney General someday soon. That would make him their boss, so they want to stay on his good side. Keeping me informed is a good-faith gesture. If they weren't trying to bank Colin's goodwill for a rainy day, they'd run roughshod over us like they always do.”

 

“Just...” Olivia was searching for the right words.

 

Alex walked over to her, and placed a finger over her lips. “Don't say it, Liv. I'll be careful. I'm going to Quantico, the safest place on earth.”

 

She removed her finger, and kissed Olivia gently until there were no other objections. Not a single one.


	18. Chapter 18

**-18-**

 

**Thursday, May 9, 2013**

 

“Postponed?” Elliot was surprised by Olivia's call. “You're getting married in nine days, Liv. We don't have a lot of time to squeeze in this dinner, you know.”

 

“No, El, not the dinner,” she said. “The wedding is postponed.”

 

He was quiet, not sure what to say. She sounded okay, but postponing a wedding this close to the date didn't usually mean all was right on Lovers' Lane, either.

 

“I can hear your wheels turning over the phone, Stabler. It's alright.”

 

“What's going on? Someone getting cold feet?”

 

“Alex moved to VCE...”

 

He cut her off. “You're shitting me, right? She signed up for the mob detail? You let her do that?”

 

“Listen, Captain Caveman, I don't _let_ her do anything, and I'm going to tell Kathy _and_ Alex that you said that.”

 

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot no one gets to be the boss in your house,” Elliot laughed. “But still, VCE? Why in hell would she want to do that?”

 

“Why does anyone do anything?” Olivia mused. “Look, I don't make her decisions. This is what she wants, and if it's what she wants, I want her to have it. It's not a big deal, except there's a case in front of her that's a little more complicated than it initially appeared.” She realized how that sounded, but she couldn't say more, didn't really know much more to be honest. She wasn't about to mention Jack Hammond's reappearance. She was still getting over the shock of it herself.

 

 _Complicated_ was a very inadequate description of what Alex was dealing with. She'd gone to Quantico for two days, which turned into three, plus a stop in Washington, and she wouldn't be home until Friday evening. They'd talked on Wednesday night, and when Olivia realized that what Alex was actually telling her was only the merest hint of what was really going on, she'd offered to push back the wedding date. Even in her exhausted state, Alex had mustered a protest:

 

“ _No, Liv, please,” she'd said. “We've waited so long, and everything's arranged.”_

 

“ _Everything that was arranged can be re-arranged, Alex,” Olivia replied. “You're gone this week, and it sounds like there's more travel to come. You're busy, and you're exhausted, and I know that what you're working on is important. I can't ask you to give it anything less than your very best, and I'm afraid I'm selfish.”_

 

“ _Selfish? You are the very opposite of selfish. I'm the one who's ruining everything.”_

 

“ _Not really, baby,” Olivia said. “I want your attention on us, 100%, when the time comes. And not just for the wedding. For the honeymoon, too. I know how hard it is to get you to relax when you're in the middle of a big case.”_

 

“ _Oh, Liv, the honeymoon.” Alex was crying. “The plans are made, it's going to cost you a fortune, and...”_

 

“ _Alex Cabot, I know you too well,” Olivia interrupted. “I bought platinum travel insurance with coverage for a job-related cancellation, honey. Whatever can't be postponed or rescheduled, is refundable. This trip will be very special, honey, but we're going to do this when we can do it right.”_

 

Now, though, it was left to Olivia to let everyone know that May 18th had now become _sometime soon._ The venue and all of those details weren't a problem—keep the deposit, we'll call when we can reschedule, travel plans on hold for now. The guests were another story, though, each of them expressing varying degrees of surprise or concern.

 

Elliot was clearly in the concerned category. “Is everything okay, Liv? Is there something you're not telling me?” He always could read her better than most.

 

“No, not at all,” she replied. “It's just exceptionally bad timing for this thing she's dealing with. And I'm not exactly lounging on a beach myself right now. I've supposed to be studying for this sergeant's exam in October, and I've been pulling so much overtime I can't even get to the damn prep class half the time. We just had a _catch-up week_ , and I'm not anywhere close to caught up. On anything.”

 

“You've got a serial, don't you?” He didn't mince words.

 

“Stop reading the _Post_ , Stabler.”

 

“Don't bullshit me, Benson. You guys have kept a pretty tight lid on it, but this is me you're talking to, you know?”

 

“You're retired, remember? You don't need to hear about it, El. It'll keep you up all night. Your brain's probably scrubbed of this kind of this kind of crap. Squeaky clean.”

 

“I've got some bad news for you, partner. Two years off the job and I've come to realize that the only thing that will make me forget some of that stuff is Alzheimer's. Spill it.”

 

She told him what she could, including the possible connections to the cases in St. Louis. He batted around a few ideas with her, and it buoyed her for a few minutes, pretending it was old times. But she felt extraordinarily tired when she realized that they'd hang up soon, and he'd go about his relatively pleasant business as the assistant director of public safety at Hofstra, while she continued to track down rapists and child abusers and murderers. Or try to track them down, anyway. She sighed.

 

“Liv, I asked earlier if everything was okay. Maybe I should have asked if _you're_ okay.”

 

“Just tired, El. That's all. Nothing to worry about. How's life on campus?”

 

He knew her well enough to know when all the questions in the world would get him nowhere. She had to work things out on her own—they were a lot alike that way. It had resulted in a few ugly fights, but it had made them damn good partners, too.

 

“It's good, can't complain,” he said. “It sometimes lacks a little excitement, but it's nice to spend a little less time around some of the worst society has to offer, you know?”

 

“I can imagine,” she replied, a hint of a laugh in her voice. “I get out of the precinct once in a while myself, lately, and it's nice. We go visit Alex's aunt and uncle in Connecticut, and I don't even spend the whole meal wondering who's a skel anymore.”

 

“That's progress, Benson. Maybe I'll get you to turn in that badge someday and join me out here on Long Island. The grass really is greener on the other side of the East River.”

 

“Listen to you, Assistant Director Stabler. It's not enough that you're a desk jockey, huh? Now they've got you recruiting, too.”

 

“Desk jockey? I'm pretty sure I heard you mention a sergeant's exam,” he retorted. “I'm gonna let it go, because you're having a rough time. But when you pass that damn thing, you're never gonna hear the end of it from me.”

 

That was fine with Olivia, really, she thought. She needed some things to just stay the same, while every other damn thing wouldn't stop changing.

 

* * *

**Friday, May 10, 2013**

 

It had been one of the longest weeks of her life, and now that she was wheels-down, Alex intended to relax. She'd grab a cab from LaGuardia, make a quick stop at Hogan Place, then straight to the loft. If Olivia left work at a decent hour, then Alex would enjoy the welcome-home she'd been craving all day. If not, she'd get the sleep she so desperately needed. Either way, she was planning to be horizontal five minutes after she walked in the front door.

 

Bone-tired though she was, she couldn't help the smile that wreathed her face when she saw the familiar shaggy hair and and brown eyes watching her all the way down the concourse. She greeted Olivia at the edge of Baggage Claim with a hug and kiss.

 

“Hi, honey,” the detective said. “Welcome home.”

 

“Oh, Liv,” Alex answered. “You have no idea how much I've missed you. I'm glad to be back.”

 

“I have some idea, I think,” Olivia laughed.

 

“What a stressful trip.” The complaint was a general one, but Olivia knew there were tales to be told.

 

As they walked to Carousel 2, Olivia put her arm around Alex's waist, and pulled her close. She leaned in and whispered through the curtain of fair hair. “I've missed you, honey. In just a few hours, I'll show you how much.”

 

But the reaction was not what Liv expected. Alex turned to her with a stricken look. “A few hours? I was going to stop by the office to pick up files off my desk and go straight home. That won't take a few hours.”

 

Olivia had stopped walking, and pulled Alex aside, out of the flow of foot traffic. “Sweetheart...” she began.

 

“What is it? This isn't happening, right?” Alex was sounding desperate now. When she got this way—so tired and so upset she looked ready to cry—Liv thought she was getting a glimpse of the towheaded little girl she'd seen in so many pictures at Bill & Jean's house, and she couldn't help but smile. “I want to go home, Liv.”

 

“It's Kate's birthday,” Olivia said gently. “Did you forget?”

 

“You should have reminded me.” She was testy, and if Olivia hadn't known she was tired, that would have been a damn good indicator of her mood.

 

“I did. I left you a voicemail on Tuesday after Kate called to tell me the place.” Alex was shaking her head, and Olivia couldn't hold back a chuckle. “Check your phone, babe.”

 

Alex pulled her phone out of her pocket, thumbed to the voicemail notifications. Sure enough, one from Liv, four days prior. “I didn't listen to it,” she confessed. “I saw that I'd missed you and just called back.”

 

“And I totally forgot about it by the time we spoke,” Olivia said. “Don't worry, she knows you've been traveling. We'll keep it short.”

 

“Famous last words.” Even Alex had to admit that once she and Kate started talking, an hour-long dinner was almost sure to last all evening.

 

“I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's her birthday, and you don't want to miss it.” Olivia tried to soothe Alex's feathers.

 

She was fractious, a bundle of desire and exhaustion, and now, frustration. “I know we have to go. I just thought we'd be home in bed instead of out at Inakaya eating bronzini with the theater crowd.”

 

“And I'm sorry we won't be.” Olivia smiled at her, knowing that this little storm would run its course quickly. She dropped her voice so as not to be heard by the crowds pressed in around them near the carousel. “I promise I'll make it up to you as soon as dinner is over.”

 

“I missed you, Liv,” Alex said. “I'm not sure I can wait until dinner's over, to be honest.”

 

“I'll see what I can do,” the detective answered cryptically. “Let's get you in the car, and we'll stop by and get your files before we head up to the restaurant.”

 

Thirty-five minutes later, they were nearing Hogan Place, but rather than taking Canal all the way to Centre, Olivia hung a left on Baxter and made a couple of quick turns. She entered the gate at the parking garage on Mulberry, swiping the keycard Alex kept clipped to the visor.

 

“You don't have to park,” Alex said. “You can just drop me off and I'll run in, babe.”

 

“No, I don't think so. I'm going to need to park.” Her glance was meaningful, but Alex was too tired to notice, neurons firing more slowly than normal. Olivia kept driving, switchbacking up the ramps of the structure. Alex looked even more confused, and tried again.

 

“Liv, there's a space...” She trailed off as she felt the detective's strong hand, starting at her knee and traveling up her leg, pushing the skirt with it. She knew now what Olivia wanted, and her stomach executed a little flip as she felt blood rush from her brain, settling in regions decidedly more responsive and less logical.

 

“I want to go all the way up,” Olivia replied, her hand still moving, and Alex couldn't have said if she meant to the top of the parking garage, or of Alex's legs.

 

“Dinner.” It was a feeble objection, uttered with absolutely no conviction. It was just a word, said out of a sense of polite obligation. Alex's mind was somewhere else entirely.

 

“We've got a few minutes, baby,” Olivia said. She was steering the Mercedes easily with one hand, continuing her explorations with the other. “I think you'll be pretty quick, don't you?”

 

Alex nodded, her eyes now dilated and jaw slackened. Olivia eased the car into a parking spot furthest from the three cameras that dotted the rooftop lights. The car windows were dark, and the 19-year-old kid on duty tonight looked to be more interested in talking to his girlfriend on the phone than in observing the rotating images from a few grainy security cameras. Better safe than sorry, though.

 

As she parked, she looked over at Alex, who returned her gaze. “Can't keep you waiting, Ms. Cabot.”

 

“Liv, I haven't had sex in a car since...”

 

“Then wouldn't you say it's been too long?” Without another word, she lifted the center armrest and leaned across into the passenger side, draping her own body over Alex's and taking her mouth in a feverish kiss. With one hand on the back of that long neck, Olivia reached between the seat and the door with the other, pressing the button to recline the power seat. Their mouths resumed contact, a kiss replete with days and weeks of stress and exhaustion, frustration and longing.

 

Olivia drew her hand up, under Alex's suit jacket and along her ribs. She used a little leverage to turn the long body toward the center of the car, so they were facing one another, and then slid her hand up under Alex's right breast. She squeezed, a bit rough, and was rewarded with a low moan. Even through the grey silk dress shirt and satin bra, she could feel the nipple tighten and harden in her grasp. She would have liked to take it in her mouth, scrape her teeth over the pebbled skin, and hear the sharp intake of breath when she twisted the skin, just a little. But time was of the essence. With one fluid motion, the attorney lifted her hips and pulled her hose and panties down to her ankles. Olivia helped the cause by pushing the skirt further up her hips.

 

Even with the contortions the location, demanded, they were operating in a zone, a combination of the practiced communication between two people who know one another's bodies well, and the frenzied gropings of eager strangers who can't resist the chance in front of them. Olivia ran her hand down the outside of Alex's long leg and over her knee, giving a slight push. Alex was happy to do the rest, spreading her legs. Their mouths were still connected, though very little in the way of kissing was going on. Heavy breathing and soft moans were the only sounds in the car as they breathed in the same air. Alex lifted her hips a bit, urging Olivia on. She was desperate—she hadn't realized _how_ desperate until just now, really.

 

Olivia's hand was moving steadily but slowly up the soft inner thigh. Too slowly. The wait was excruciating. Giving in to her natural impatience, Alex moved the fingers into position. She was so wet, and so very ready, and she didn't want to wait another second. “Please, Olivia,” she breathed into the warm mouth on hers. “Now.”

 

The detective never could say no to her, especially when she asked so nicely. And truth be told, Olivia needed this as much as Alex did, maybe more. Needed to feel loved, and wanted, and powerful. She slid two fingers easily into Alex's heat, and put a thumb on her swollen clit. She had been right about one thing—this wouldn't take long. She could feel those smooth muscles grab at her hand immediately, and she started moving her hand, hard and fast. Alex had one arm around Olivia's shoulders, and the other trailed down the brunette's left bicep, grabbing behind the elbow to push her deeper inside.

 

The dialogue was mostly non-verbal, as Alex's breathing increased and she headed quickly for the release she needed so badly. The only words spoken were Liv's quiet entreaties.

 

“Come on, honey, come for me. I need you to let go. I've got you.”

 

Alex couldn't stand up against that kind of encouragement for long. Finally she said a single word, in a low, throaty growl. “More.” She consumed Olivia in a deep kiss as the detective slid one more finger, filling Alex completely. Just a few more thrusts and Alex came, a deep, hard climax that gripped Olivia's fingers and rolled through in long waves as they continued to share soft kisses.

 

When Alex's breathing had returned to normal, Olivia smiled at her.

 

“Welcome home.”

 

“Thank you,” Alex laughed. She put herself back together. “I'm a mess, I'm afraid.”

 

“It's okay, you can freshen up when you run into your office. I'll wait. They probably won't tow me.” She winked. “I bet the last time you had sex in a car, it wasn't a Mercedes, Counselor.”

 

“Actually, it was,” Alex laughed.

 

“Of course it was.” Olivia shook her head. “You Benz owners are a loyal bunch, aren't you?”

 

“It wasn't mine. I was on a date, the night before senior prom.”

 

“The night _before_ prom?” Olivia asked. “He must have been very persuasive.”

 

“She was,” Alex corrected.

 

“Your date to the junior prom was a girl? How very progressive of you, Ms. Cabot.”

 

“No, my date to the prom was Jonathan Ramsey, a guy from the debate team. My date in the back of the Benz was his younger sister, Carrie.”

 

Olivia just stared at her. Alex was still straightening her hose and adjusting her skirt as they pulled out of the garage and headed to the front of Hogan Place. She finally noticed the incredulous looks coming from the driver's seat.

 

“What?” Alex asked.

 

“Now you're going to play innocent?” Olivia couldn't help but smile. “You know exactly _what._ You never cease to amaze me, Alexandra Cabot.”

 

“There's lots more where that came from, Benson. Stick around and I'll be amazing you when we're old and gray.”

 

“I'm counting on it, sweetheart.” Olivia stopped the car in front of the building, and Alex grabbed her ID and hopped out of the car to go in and get her files. But before she closed the door, she leaned back in the car and braced her arms on the back of the passenger seat, and on the dashboard.

 

“Thanks for that, you know. It wasn't the first sex I've had in a Mercedes, but it was definitely the best.” She kissed Olivia, hunger still evident in her warm mouth and searching tongue. “Keep this dinner short, and I'll remind you later how good I am in the bed.”

 

* * *

Dinner was a couple of hours of catching up. Kate's date was Marina Karellas, a Metropolitan Studies professor at NYU who they'd not had a chance to meet before. Besides being charming company, Marina's presence meant that Kate was more than happy to end the evening fairly early, and that Alex didn't have to endure Kate's probing questions about the new job, and the wedding postponement. She'd have to sit through an interrogation later, but for now, she was happy to go home and make good on her promise to Olivia.

 

The endless days of meetings and briefings and travel took its toll, though, and when Olivia came out of the shower, she found Alex sound asleep in her robe, bedside lamp still shining on her face, reflecting off of the lenses of her glasses.

 

Liv removed the frames and turned off the light. Once it was dark, she coaxed the robe off, and eased Alex beneath the covers. There were quiet murmurs and restless sighs, but when Olivia slipped into bed behind her and pulled her close, the feeling of warm, soft skin quieted the sleepy noises, and they both slept as soundly as they had in a month.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**-19-**

 

**Monday, May 12, 2013**

 

“You waited 15 years to marry this woman, and you're postponing the wedding for work? Avoiding me isn't going to get you off the hook, you know.”

 

Alex had ignored a couple of phone calls over the weekend, knowing that Kate was eager to rake her over the coals. “You didn't leave a voicemail. I thought maybe you'd dialed me by accident,” she offered.

 

“Bullshit,” Kate coughed.

 

“And not 15 years. It's been...”

 

“Shut the hell up, Cab. I don't give a damn how many days less than that it's been. You've been in love with Olivia Benson for most of your adult life, and I don't know what's going on with you, but you're suddenly willing to postpone your wedding for some cloak-and-dagger caper at the DA's office. Pull your head out, why don't you? Maybe she's too nice to call you on it. I'm not.” 

 

Very few people could talk to Alex that way, and only one was willing to risk it on a regular basis. As a result, Kate felt it was her God-given duty to call her friend on this type of crap, and she never minced words while she did it.

 

“It was Olivia's idea to postpone, actually.” Alex was scrambling for anything that would end this line of conversation. 

 

“Tell yourself that,” Kate snorted. “And you left her a lot of options, I'm sure.”

 

“Kate, look, this new job...I can't really get into it. Believe me, things will quiet down in a few months and we'll be right back on track.”

 

“Speaking of the new job, that's pretty fucking ridiculous, too. If a lion attacks you, are you going to go get a job at the zoo?”

 

“It's nothing like that,” Alex protested. “I'm the bureau chief. I'm not sitting first chair very often, not with the group of ADAs I have working for me. I'll take a few big cases, and run the office.”

 

“It's the few big cases that worry me, Cab, though I think you're being facetious when you even suggest that there are _small_ cases. It's called _Violent Criminal Enterprises_ for a lot of reasons. There's no penny-ante stuff going on there. Your fiancee is scared to death.”

 

“I'm going to be just fine, Kate,” Alex insisted. “And Olivia's not worried.”

 

“You're blind and stupid, then, if you didn't see her face when you were telling us about it at dinner. Why, Alex? Just tell me why.”

 

“Why I'm going to be fine?”

 

“Why you're doing this.”

 

“Because I can, I suppose,” Alex replied. “It's the only reason I can come up with. Because I want to, and I can.” It was as close as she was ready to come to admit how very selfish it was, and how much that scared her. 

 

“That's at least partially true,” Kate allowed. “There's more to it, though. Olivia won't say it, and you won't admit it, probably even to yourself, but you're back to your old ways, Cab.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

“Yeah, you do. That old craving is back, isn't it? The girl who told me she'd be the DA by the time she was 45 only has a few years left, and the clock is ticking.”

 

Alex laughed derisively. “You don't know me as well as you think, Kate. I gave all that up long ago.”

 

“I know you better than you know yourself, Alex. Through and through. Everyone can see it happening. That niggling little itch is back, and you have to scratch it, even though you know you shouldn't. If you survive, you'll be sitting in the District Attorney's office whenever you decide to run. And I know you can do it, you know. You can do anything you set your mind to. I'm just not sure you should.”

 

“I'm not going down that road again.” 

 

Kate was quiet a moment, letting Alex's words hang on the line between them, hoping that what she was about to say would sink in.

 

“I hope not, I really do. I love you, and I love Olivia. So many people have waited so long to see you happy. I thought you finally were, Alex. Don't mess this up.”

* * *

**Wednesday, June 12, 2013**

 

Two months had passed since the last victim had been found. It was possible, of course, that there were others, waiting abandoned in some cluster of trees, or hidden in a thicket, dense with summer vegetation and sheltering its terrible secret until a dog broke from its leash or a ball rolled too far from a mitt. Maybe there was a body in a vacant building. All of that seemed unlikely, though. The killer they were hunting liked for his victims to be found, and the warm weather wouldn't allow a body to go undetected for long. 

 

“I think your guy travels,” George was saying. Olivia's calls had become more frequent as the leads dried up. She hoped their conversations would help her think of something—anything—worth pursuing. “Maybe it's work, or military deployments. It's the only thing that explains the long intervals. It's a very odd cycle, Olivia.”

 

“Then there's the St. Louis thing,” she added. “If that's even part of it.”

 

“Do you think it is?” he asked.

 

“I'm not sure anymore. I did, when Mackey was here. And we've talked on the phone, exchanged some more information, but ViCAP didn't get a hit, and there are some discrepancies. I'm wondering if we were just too excited by the possibility of linking the cases, which would give us more to work with on both ends.”

 

“Possibly,” George said. “That is a danger of inductive reasoning.”

 

“If it isn't the same guy, I have so little to go on, it isn't funny.”

 

“What about the last case? Did any of those leads pan out?”

 

“None.” Olivia was hopelessly bewildered, and it was apparent in her voice. “It's pretty bad when you have to stop yourself from hoping for another case, just so you'll have something to go on.”

 

George had little to offer, and he decided to change the subject. "How are you and Alex doing, by the way?" he asked. He was hesitant to wade into this water, but he knew that had to be one more thing weighing on his friend, in addition to this dead-end case. "I was surprised to hear that your wedding was postponed."   
  
“We're okay, George.” She was trying to be reassuring, and failing miserably. Her words seemed more like justification than truth. “It made sense to do it. She's unexpectedly deep in a case, and I'm dealing with all of this. We couldn't really even take a honeymoon, so we decided to just push it back a little.” There came a point in every call when he turned his considerable insight from professional to personal matters, and Olivia didn't always enjoy it.  
  
“When's the new date?” George asked lightly. “I'll have to book a flight from Oklahoma City, you know.”  
  
“Ah, of course, I'm sorry,” Olivia said. “I know it was an inconvenience.”  
  
“No, Olivia, that's not what I meant. I'm hoping you've picked a new date, though.”  
  
"We haven't," she replied. "Can't, really. Everything is up in the air, you know."  
  
"Don't put it off indefinitely. You can take a honeymoon anytime, but pick a date and have your wedding. Even if it's just at the courthouse. Have a big party later when you both have more time."  
  
She was quiet, knowing that he was right. It had worried her that she had so readily suggested the postponement, and was even more concerning that Alex had agreed to it without much of a fight. They had taken so long to get here, and now--just maybe--they still weren't ready. They were both so busy, and she didn't even know how to broach that subject. What if she didn't like the answer?  
  
George finally broke the silence. "Liv, talk to her. You're both under a lot of stress. Don't try to tough your way through this."  
  
"She's involved in something that scares the hell out of me, George. I can't say much...you know how she gets, right? She's putting herself at risk, and I don't understand it."  
  
"I've heard a little about what's going on," he said. "Federal law enforcement's main byproduct is gossip. She'll be okay."  
  
"How can you know that?" Olivia asked. Her voice cracked, just the slightest fissure that told George she was simultaneously doubting and craving this reassurance of Alex's safety.  
  
"I know who she's working with," he said. "I know that he won't let anything happen to her."  
  
"I'd have thought that, too, George, but what if he still harbors a grudge? He lost his partner, and he blames her."  
  
"Blamed, maybe, at one point," George said. "Not anymore. He did a hell of a lot to keep her alive, and bring her home to you. I think they have a bond that neither of them probably even understand. If she has to prosecute these cases, she couldn't be in better hands."  
  
"You're probably right. The thing is, though, she doesn't have to prosecute these cases. She said yes, and I'm not sure I understand why. She's got nothing to prove, you know? She'll never back down."  
  
"That's why you love her." His answer was short, quiet and to-the-point.  
  
It was also undeniably true, though Liv wasn't ready to concede so easily. "It's also going to get her killed," she said.  
  
"She'd say the same about you," George said, a small laugh escaping him. "In fact, I think she has."  
  
"I'm a cop, George. She's a lawyer. Lawyers aren't meant to get shot, or wear bulletproof vests or get briefed at Quantico, for God's sake. I don't understand her impulse to keep putting herself on the line this way."  
  
"If you think about it, I'm sure you do. She's passionate about what she does. So are you. And I know you wouldn't want it any other way."  
  
"I'm not so sure, to be honest. Lately, I've been thinking very hard about the work I do, and the chances I take to do it. I'm not sure it's worth it. I'm taking the sergeant's exam in October, and I've been thinking about computer crimes, or maybe some other desk job, because she shouldn't have to worry about me all of the time. What I don't think she realizes is how much I worry about her."  
  
"Then you have to tell her," George said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.  
  
"I suppose I do," Olivia said. She had no problem saying these things to George, who was always so cool and logical, but she had no idea how she could get through to Alex. 


	20. Chapter 20

-20-

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Washington, D.C.

After what seemed like years, they were finally ready to prosecute the first case. Alex hadn't offered a plea bargain, and had rejected out of hand the terms put on the table by Bannon's attorney. The good doctor was willing to flip on someone, alright, but it was on one of the pharmacies—not only were they the smallest fish in this pond, but she had more than enough to get them without his help. She wanted information he had, to be sure, but the fact that he wasn't offering told her he was afraid of Bayardo, or someone in his crew. She didn't blame him. Her meetings with Hammond and his DEA colleagues, as well as briefings by the FBI and ATF, left no double that Nuevos Reyes were exceedingly dangerous. 

The plan was to put Bannon in prison, and then, once that harsh reality had time to set in, offer him a transfer to a federal prison with greater protection. If he declined to participate, she'd move on to the next target, and the next, until someone was ready to play. 

Alex was a hell of a litigator, and was rarely reluctant to take a case to trial. It was the reason—one of the reasons, anyway—that Hammond and the DEA had requested her assistance when they'd approached Samuels. She had the skills to win these cases without doing anything to reveal or jeopardize the underlying federal operation. 

But over the years, she'd become even more adept in a different setting, playing to a much smaller crowd. When the door closed on an interrogation room, or a Rikers interview cell, or a conference room at the DA's office, leaving her alone with a suspect and his attorney, that was when the accused got to see Alex really work her magic. 

Once she had this SOB in Attica, she'd tell him what she really wanted. And if he wouldn't give it up then? She'd tell him she was going to gut Bayardo's organization from top to bottom, with or without his help, and when she did, she'd damn well make sure they believed that he, and he alone, had given her all the ammunition she'd needed. Then, for one last push, she'd tell him he had two choices: cooperate with the feds and be protected at Otisville, or maintain his silence and find himself transferred to gen pop at Five Points, where he'd be sure to pull kitchen duty with a few of the Nuevos Reyes members there on murder charges.

Olivia didn't share Alex's confidence.

They're using you, Alex. Putting you out there. Yours is the only face anyone will see until the last minute. It's like Hammond is hanging a target on your back. Have you thought about that? It's far too much of a coincidence for my liking. 

Olivia had tried to talk to her one night while they were both lying in bed, too tired and stressed for sleep. Or anything else, really. They'd tried to have sex twice that week and each time one of them had simply been too exhausted. Alex didn't answer, grateful for the darkness that hid her reaction.

Yes, of course, she had considered that very possibility. But a conversation with Hammond had removed any doubts. If anything, she felt she owed him, and she came out of it more resolute than ever to do whatever she had to do to win these cases. They'd had dinner at the tail end of a 3-day trip to DC for final consultations. Alex had worked Monday in her office and flown down early Tuesday morning for briefing and strategy sessions with the DEA team, a US Attorney, and an ATF agent recently roped into the cases. She would fly home first thing Friday morning, and head straight to the office. The court date for Bannon was fast approaching, so this would likely be her last trip to DC, and she wasn't sad about it. 

These trips meant being away from home, and they also meant being away from her office. When she missed three days at her desk, there was still work to be done. In addition to the countless calls and emails she fielded on the road, she ended up working late nearly every night that she was home, and all day on Saturday. Olivia hated for her to go the office on Sunday, but if Alex played her cards right, she could always seem to work in a couple of hours with her case files in the afternoon. And if Liv got called in to work, then all bets were off. They were doing an admirable job at navigating what could be rough waters, but Alex felt pressured to put this case to bed, free up some time in her calendar and reschedule the wedding as soon as she could. Even Olivia's patience wasn't an endless well. 

The work was exhilarating, though. Her staff was excellent. She was overseeing a team of 6 ADA's, all of whom were talented, dedicated and ethically beyond reproach. They were an absolute pleasure after her time with the overly enthusiastic greenhorns she'd supervised in Appeals, and they were helping to take the bad taste out of her mouth from her time in Major Case. Dev Patel had only been one bad apple among a bunch, but the whole experience had lent a grey tinge to her memories of the bureau. 

The cases were fascinating, as well. Major Case had been full of headlines in the making, but she had spent too much time on politics. Even though VCE had brought her firmly into the orbit of more than one federal agency, that hadn't proven as big a problem as she'd anticipated. 

Most surprising of all was her relationship with Hammond. They had reached a detente early on, a wary familiarity giving way rather quickly to professional respect. He'd been exceedingly helpful to her in navigating these cases, and serving as her liaison with the various agencies involved. During a score of working lunches and dinners, they hadn't discussed anything other than investigations, prosecutions and the occasional overcooked steak. For their last evening in Washington, he'd invited her out to dinner at Acadiana in Mt. Vernon Square.

“This is a lovely restaurant, Jack. Thank you.”

“You've had the full tour of the District's many federal employee cafeterias. I felt like you deserved one decent meal, and the cochon de lait here is the best I've ever had, in or out of Louisiana.”

“You must have spent some time in the Bayou State to make such a bold assertion,” Alex observed.

“Seven years,” he answered. “It was actually my first posting with DEA. I had been an ATF agent for nearly 15 years, joined right out of the Marines, and was stationed in Seattle. It was great. I'd bounced around a bit but when the position opened up to be second-in-command in the Seattle field office, I jumped at it. It wasn't quite home, but it was a damn sight closer than Kansas City or Columbus.”

“Where's home?” Alex asked. She kept one eye on the menu, but she wanted to keep Hammond talking, too. This was the most he'd ever said about himself. 

“Portland, born and raised,” he replied. “I swore I'd get out of there when I was growing up, and then it seemed like I spent every second after I landed at Parris Island trying to just get back.”

“Home is like that,” Alex said quietly. “It's hard to appreciate it until it's been taken from you.”

He looked up at her, and nodded but didn't speak immediately. This was as close as they'd come to discussing the circumstances of their acquaintance, and neither was sure if the subject was a safe one for conversation yet. “That's certainly something you'd know about, Alex.”

She didn't respond. The silence sat between them for a moment, and she decided to give that topic a little breathing room for now. “Seattle was great, but you left ATF. What happened?”

He looked relieved to be back on solid ground, recounting his story. “Ruby Ridge happened. I was called in to help the guys in the Boise field office. They were part of the Seattle Division, and they were dealing with more than they could handle, so my boss farmed me out. Said it would be good experience.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head, then continued. “The whole thing stunk to high heaven. The allegations against Weaver were overblown, and it was handled badly. The agent in Boise had some kind of hard-on to”--he nearly blushed when he realized the language he'd used. “Sorry, Alex, that was inappropriate.”

“I live with a cop,” she reminded him. “I might have heard that phrase once or twice.”

“At any rate, I guess one or two people thought they'd make a name for themselves, and I could see it was going to end badly, but I felt like the proverbial lone voice in the wilderness. Even my boss in Seattle got caught up in the frenzy, and I don't think he cared what I told him. After all of that, I was just grateful that my involvement was relatively incidental. I requested a transfer to DEA as soon as I could, and if it meant leaving the area I'd tried so hard to get back to, it was a trade worth making.”

“New Orleans is a long way from Seattle,” Alex observed. 

“In every way,” Hammond laughed. “My family wasn't all that thrilled, to be honest.”

“Family?” Alex didn't know why, exactly, but she hadn't given much thought to Hammond's life outside of the narrow context in which she knew him. It was a defense mechanism, she supposed. Even now, thinking about Tim Donovan's fatherless children could reduce her to tears. She had been determined to hate Hammond, and had been successful at it for a number of years, so the past couple of months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

“Wife, two kids,” he confirmed. “She's a teacher, secondary ed. My son is 27, works for a tech start-up in California. My daughter is 25, graduated from Annapolis three years ago, and she's stationed in Bahrain.”

“So where's home these days?”

“Virginia,” he said. “Not far from Quantico, actually. Spending so much of my time in DC these days, just made sense. My wife is retired, for the most part, and she has family in the area so that's nice for her when I'm traveling, now that the kids are out of the house.”

Alex was puzzled. On all of their trips to Washington, and MCB Quantico, Hammond had stayed wherever she stayed. On the base, or in the same hotel in DC, in the room next door. “If home is so nearby...” she began, but he cut her off.

“Just makes sense,” he said. “Less back and forth in this traffic.” His tone told her there was more to it than that, and also made it clear that the real reasons weren't forthcoming, but she had some idea why he did that.

“Well, I appreciate it,” she told him. “I don't think I could have navigated all of this on my own.”

They finished dinner with some less-personal chit-chat, and caught a cab back to the hotel. They were about to part company in the lobby, but Alex felt like there was more to say. She wasn't sure why she suggested a nightcap, or why he accepted, but just a moment later they were seated in a booth at Firefly, each nursing a Baker's bourbon, neat. It was quiet for a minute. All of the safer topics of conversation had been exhausted at dinner, and they seemed to have reached an inevitable juncture.

Hammond broke the silence. “Speaking of hotels, once you get a conviction on Bannon—and I'm sure you will, Alex—there won't be any more grillades-and-grits dinners or Hotel Madera Egyptian cotton linens,” he said, gesturing around their elegant surroundings. “You'll be on too many people's radars.” 

“I'm aIready the prosecutor of record—they know that. How will I be in any more danger?” she asked.

“To be honest, they're foolish enough that they don't take you seriously right now. But they will. And once that happens, and they realize you're working with us, your trips will involve bunking at Quantico and eating in the Globe & Anchor Pub just above the firing range. There will be too much risk otherwise.”

She tried to laugh it off. “Liv will be happy about that. She thinks I should have a 24-hour protective detail all the time, anyway.”

“We'll look into that soon,” he said. He wasn't laughing. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Alex.”

She was taken aback. Maybe she was the foolish one, because while Olivia hadn't spelled out all of her concerns, she'd clearly known there was something worth worrying about. Alex had ignored her, and Hammond's utter seriousness sent a chill down her spine, and amplified the clanking chains of some old ghosts. She knew it was possible that one or more of the doctors who agreed to testify might end up in the protected witness program. Hammond had danced around the subject, but other agents she'd met with hadn't been as reticent. She hadn't told Olivia how much of her scarce free time she'd spent lately pondering her own experiences, or how many nightmares she'd been having. Alex Cabot wasn't particularly religious, nor did she hew to any serious superstitions, or read her horoscope, or consult psychics. But she felt a sense of purpose about all of this, that she was destined to be exactly where she was. It was why she'd said yes to Samuels' request so readily, and why she hadn't fought Olivia's suggestion to postpone the wedding. The universe had taken a lot from her—she was still realizing how much—and maybe this was a chance to right those wrongs.

This was the perfect opportunity to finally learn what ambition still burned inside her, and perhaps to finally slay her own dragons, once and for all. It felt like a reckoning was at hand, a chance to repay a debt or two and maybe sock away a little karmic currency herself, though she was either unable or unwilling to say what rainy day she might be saving for.

She realized she was going with her gut quite a bit these days, and it was that gut instinct that told her to stay in Major Case when good sense should have sent her running, to agree to Samuels' request to take VCE, and to stay there once his purpose had become clear. It was that same instinct that had made her suggest a nightcap, and that finally made her voice the question she had been dying to ask. Suddenly, words both unexpected and unavoidable were pouring out.

“Why am I here?”

“Because you suggested a drink, I suppose,” Hammond answered drily.

“No,” Alex cut him off sharply. “You know I don't mean that. Why am I here, in the middle of all of this, at your request?”

“I wondered when you'd finally ask that. I had begun to think you'd lost some of that annoying goddamned curiosity I remembered.”

“Well, you have to admit, this is an unlikely state of affairs, Agent Hammond.” Calling him that was a hard habit to break.

“Jack,” he practically barked. “The Agent Hammond thing is getting old...Alex.”

“It is, I'm sure. But to be honest, it's hard for me to reconcile you with the...”

“I know.” He put up his hand to stop her. “But things change. You're no longer dependent on me for survival, or for safety, or for your ticket home. The situation has changed. Hell, Cabot, even I've changed.”

He laughed, and downed the rest of his bourbon in one swallow, signaling the bartender for another round for each of them. “Drink up, Alex. I think we'll be talking a while, don't you?”

She was quiet, swirling the amber liquid in her glass before finishing it off. The bartender came, taking the empties and leaving two fresh drinks in their place. Alex waited until he left before she fixed her eyes on Hammond's and spoke. 

“Why, Jack?”

“Why what?” he asked, truly confused by the question.

“All these years, I've wondered, but I've never been able to ask. Why did you go out of your way to take care of me?”

“90% of the people in WITSEC are criminals, Cabot. Hell, 100% of the people I put in the program had been. But you weren't. You were a pain in the ass, to be sure, but your heart was in the right place. I don't normally get involved. Hand them off to the marshals, and I'm done. I was on your case the whole time. I'd lost Donovan—I wasn't going to lose you, too.”

“That's an extraordinary commitment.” She wasn't sure what else she could say without becoming emotional. 

“We put you in extraordinary danger,” he admitted. “We didn't mean to, of course, and that danger was exacerbated by your own hubris. But if we hadn't been able to save you, Donovan would have died for nothing.”

“I was much younger then,” she observed wryly. “I didn't want to admit that my wings were made of wax.”

“You were stubborn as hell, fearless and absolutely relentless. That made things harder then, but it's exactly why we needed you for this job. I know you won't give up.”

“I'm not fearless anymore, Jack,” she said. Her voice wavered just a little. It was a hard thing to admit. 

“And you have a hell of a lot to lose,” he acknowledged. “I've got your back, Cabot. Everything is going to be okay. You do your job, and I'll take care of the rest. Just don't fly too close to the sun this time, okay?”

She just nodded, not sure if there was anything else to say. She returned to her room shortly thereafter, but didn't even make an effort to sleep. When dawn broke, she was standing in front of her hotel window, glasses on, a pen and legal pad in hand, and pages of notes in a scrawl that barely resembled her own flowing script. She knew now what was at stake. She had to nail this. If she didn't win these cases, and put them them all away for a long time, there would be consequences she didn't even want to consider.


	21. Chapter 21

-21-

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

The Bannon trial was over, and they were just waiting for the jury to come back. Alex felt she'd done her best, and the two weeks of testimony looked like a slam-dunk conviction, but she knew better than to be sure of anything. It was a convoluted case, and once a jury was locked in a room, anything could happen, and usually did. Eight men and four women—including a nurse, two teachers, a city sanitation worker, and a stay-at-home dad—had been locked in deliberations since the previous Thursday morning, and the testimony they'd asked to have read back hadn't given any clue as to which way they were leaning.

Olivia had come over to take her out to lunch. There had been no movement on their serial case, and the detectives were still following the few dwindling leads while they worked other cases. Liv was tracking down a child rapist, and while all of her cases were hard, the ones with kids were the worst, for her and for Alex. They could make you doubt that there was any good in the world. 

The two of them sat in a rundown Chinese place near the courthouse, where the quality of the food seemed to be in inverse proportion to the quality of the décor. Olivia picked at her lo mein, focusing more on goading Alex to eat than she was on feeding herself.

“We're a mess,” Alex laughed.

“What do you mean?” 

“Neither of us is eating, but we're practically counting one another's bites,” Alex observed. “How's it going, babe? Any closer to figuring this one out?”

“I think we may have our suspect,” Olivia answered, but her reply was lacking its usual certainty.

“That's a good thing, right?”

“It is,” Liv agreed. “But it's so ugly, honey. I mean, more than usual. I don't know if there is enough counseling in the world to help these two little boys put their worlds back together again.”

“Jesus, I hate those,” Alex said. She pushed her plate away. “Forget lunch. Let's just take a walk and not even try to pretend either of us can eat. We're not fooling anyone.”

“You want to walk?” Olivia laughed. “It's over a hundred degrees, Al.”

“I don't care,” she said, standing up and throwing a 20 and a 5 on the table. “I just need to move. This waiting is killing me.”

They left the restaurant, and hadn't walked a full block when Alex's phone buzzed its text message alert. 

“Be careful what you wish for,” she said to Liv. “Judge Hanover's clerk. Jury has a verdict. We'll reconvene in 30 minutes, so I'd better head back.”

“I'll drive you,” Olivia offered.

Alex turned to her and kissed her, then gave her a hug. “By the time we get back to the car and head over, I'd have been there. I'll walk, babe.”

“Are you sure?”

“I could use the time to compose myself,” Alex reassured her. She thought, but didn't say, that if Hammond's predictions were accurate, she might not have the opportunity to walk back to the office by herself anytime soon.

They parted company, with Alex promising to let her know the verdict as soon as she could. Less than an hour later, she kept her promise, texting a single word to Olivia's phone:

GUILTY.

Olivia was happy, and responded with a congratulatory message and an offer for a celebratory dinner that evening. Finally, some good news, she thought. Maybe at least one of them could actually eat more than a bite or two. 

Alex returned to her office, knowing she had at least a day before she had to meet with Bannon and his lawyer at Rikers to get what she really wanted. She already had her next case lined up, and maybe she could get some work done on it before she opened that other can of worms. 

Shortly before four o'clock, her momentary joy was shattered.

“Ms. Cabot, Judge Harriman on the line for you.”

“Thanks, Ellen.” Alex hadn't expected a call from her uncle—he rarely phoned her at the office, if he could help it—but maybe he'd come into the city unexpectedly and wanted to grab dinner.

“Uncle Bill!” she answered, her voice bright. But there was no answer. She tried again. “Uncle Bill, are you there?”

She heard something—a choked sob, almost. Then his voice, small, tentative; not at all like the strong baritone that had stricken fear in the hearts of attorneys and defendants alike for years.

“Alex.”

Now she was worried. “I'm here, Uncle Bill. What's wrong?”

“It's your Aunt Jean,” he said. “And it's bad news, Ace.”

 

Olivia worked later than she'd hoped that night, and a driving rainstorm hadn't helped her get home any sooner, but she'd made progress on the case, and she knew Alex wouldn't mind a late dinner. She'd texted but got no answer—not uncommon when Alex was absorbed in what she was doing, which was most of the time. She expected to find a more relaxed Alex and a lighter mood. But when she walked through the front door of the loft just after 8:00, there were no lights on, none of the reassuring sounds of music or TV. 

She entered the apartment through the dark dining room; the kitchen to her left was likewise abandoned. She was about to call out when she stepped into the living room and found Alex sitting on the couch, holding a highball glass half full of a dark liquid, staring into the dark corner of the room and seeing nothing. She didn't seem to be aware that Olivia was home. The whole scene was lit by nothing more than the two street lights that shone in and always drove them crazy. The gold glow of the sodium-vapor lamps was distorted by the rivulets of rain streaking down the glass. 

Olivia crossed the room and stood in Alex's line of sight. After a minute, the blue eyes seemed to bring her into focus.

“Alex.”

“Olivia.” Her voice was flat, her stare dull and uncomprehending. She took a swallow of her drink, then another. 

Olivia walked to her, and crouched low, weight balanced over her heels. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“Everything.”

Olivia waited patiently. It wasn't like Alex to exaggerate. Melodrama was definitely not her style, so she knew it was serious. But when it seemed no answer was forthcoming, she put her hand on Alex's knee, a gentle touch meant to focus and reassure her. “What is it, baby?”

“Uncle Bill.”

“Oh, my god. What, Alex? Is he okay?”

“It's not him,” Alex said finally. “He called today. It's Aunt Jean. She's dying, Liv.”

“No.” It was the only response Olivia could manage, prayer, wish & denial all in a single word.

“Yes,” Alex replied. She stood abruptly, throwing Olivia off balance so that she fell backward onto her rear. Alex seemed not to notice as she began to stalk the floor, drink in hand. Olivia turned, still seated on the floor.

“Tell me, Alex. What is it?”

“Cancer.” Alex said it with venom and hatred.

“Chemo,” Olivia said, like this was some fucked-up game of word association. Her own fear and panic let her jump easily into the disjointed conversation.

“No,” Alex answered. “Stage 4. Pancreas.”

“Stage 4?” Olivia was stunned, but finally found enough words to form a whole thought. “How did no one find it? She was talking about a physical in the spring, said she was run down and the doctor plannned to do a whole workup. How did they miss it?”

Alex stopped pacing now, looking straight at her. A puzzled look crossed the plains of fear and anger on her face; she obviously had no idea why Olivia was on the floor, but was too preoccupied to ask. “They didn't.”

“Didn't what?”

“Didn't miss it, Olivia,” she shouted. “They found it at the physical, and told her there was nothing they could do. She didn't want to be a burden, so she didn't tell anyone. Not Uncle Bill, not her sister, and not me.” She stormed off to the kitchen as Olivia scrambled to her feet to follow. As she rounded the corner, she heard a glass shatter in the concrete sink and found Alex leaning over the mess, tears on her cheeks.

“My God, honey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Olivia. I'm perfect, great, healthy and whole. But she's not,” she sobbed. “And she hasn't been for a long time.”

“What are you saying, Alex? I don't understand.”

“She's known. She's known since the spring. She was so happy that we were having the wedding quickly—that's why she didn't put up a fight about it being small. But then I postponed it, and still she wouldn't say a word. Didn't want us to change our plans for her. And now...”

“And now we know, Alex, and we can help. There has to be something we can do, a doctor she can see, a treatment she hasn't tried.”

“No.” It was all she said. She was dejected, and beyond hope. 

“Something,” Olivia insisted. “Anything.”

“No, Liv, get it through your head. There are no clues to find, no perp to arrest, no bad guys that we can lock up and throw away the key. She's dying. The doctors—all of them—said that treatment could only delay the inevitable, so she didn't try. She didn't want to spoil our wedding. They're starting hospice care tomorrow. She still didn't want me to know, begged Uncle Bill not to call, but he insisted.”

“This is not your fault, Alex. You didn't know. What could you do?”

“I could have taken care of her instead of running her from dress shop to florist to restaurant, taking what little remained of her energy for nothing. I could have been there for her, like I wasn't for my mother. I haven't seen her all summer, Liv, because I was too busy with this case to be bothered. I could have taken care of my life instead of my job for one goddamn minute.”

Before the words had died on the air, Alex was sobbing, sliding down the front of the cabinet into a heap on the kitchen floor. Olivia sat beside her, gathering her shaking body in a tight embrace, crying along with her, rubbing her back and wiping hot tears from her face. But it was pointless, really. There were more tears, and then more, and Olivia wondered if they would stop. She was whispering words of comfort and reassurance, trying to calm her, but Alex was well beyond her reach. 

After ten minutes, the weeping subsided slightly, and Alex pulled out of Liv's grasp and stood abruptly. 

“I'm going there,” she said. “I have to pack, and get on the road.”

Liv stood too, and grabbed Alex's arm before she could leave the room.

“In the morning, honey.”

“No, now,” Alex said. “I've been too selfish for too long. I need to go.”

“Let me call the Captain, tie up some loose ends. I'll go in at 5 in the morning, hand some files off, and we'll be on the road by 7.”

“Take care of your work, Olivia. Do whatever you need to do, that's fine. I'm not waiting. I'm going now. I understand if you can't come.”

“No, no, baby. I don't mean that. Just...let's not drive in the dark. We're too upset, and too tired. It's not safe. Please, just wait til the morning. I'll drive you. We'll leave at sunrise. I can call work and handle everything by phone.”

Suddenly, the defiant anger left Alex's face all at once, and her blue eyes filled with tremulous tears. Her voice was a whisper.

“I don't want to wait, Liv. I'm scared.”

“I understand, but please trust me. We will go first thing in the morning. We can't come crashing in on your uncle so late at night. He needs any rest he can get,” she reasoned. She held Alex's arms gently, looking into her eyes for any sign of understanding. Finally, a nod told her Alex agreed. “First thing, we're on the road. Let's get packed and try to sleep a few hours. Okay, baby?”

She nodded again, and allowed Olivia to hug her, but she was bereft and inconsolable. They packed in silence, and went to bed with few words and a perfunctory kiss. Alex slept, but fitfully. Olivia knew, because she lay awake all night, watching, and wondering what this would do to Alex, and to them.


	22. Chapter 22

-22-

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

NY Judiciary Law § 466: Attorney's Oath of Office

I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the   
United States, and the constitution of the State of New York, and that I will   
faithfully discharge the duties of the office of attorney-at-law,  
according to the best of my ability.

Dev Patel had information for his...what was she? Not his boss, certainly, though she acted like it. Colleague wasn't right, either, and associate made it sound like he had joined her law firm. He was on her payroll, in a sense, but he nearly laughed out loud at the thought of either of them upholding the law. Admittedly, Madeline Taylor was still practicing in the profession—quite lucratively, he was sure—but something told him she saw the law as something for other, less-important people. 

Though she still wasn't entirely forthcoming about her long-term plans, the tasks she assigned him—projects, she always said, as in I have a little project for you, Deval---certainly indicated to him that whatever she had planned wasn't entirely above board. Partner-in-crime was probably a more truthful description for their budding relationship, but even Dev found it a little too pedestrian for his liking. Consigliere was the perfect sobriquet. 

He always had information. It was his currency and his lifeblood right now. He knew enough people to get the details she needed. Dev wasn't foolish enough to think he knew more people than she did, of course, but her contracts were limited to the upper echelons of the Manhattan legal and prosecutorial communities, and sometimes the full picture could only be gleaned through a more vertical sourcing of intelligence. It wouldn't do for Madeline to be seen talking to certain individuals. Secretaries and clerks were beneath her, but Dev moved much more easily among the strata that made up their professional world. He knew, and so did she, that those who were granted the least power had often managed to amass the most useful knowledge.

They met at a bar near her office, but not too near. And it didn't look like the sort of place she'd frequent or, more to the point, she didn't look like the sort of person who'd frequent this bar. It seemed to hold the stench of a thousand cigarettes, an odor still clinging to the walls ten years after the nanny mayor enacted his smoking ban. He arrived before her—he always arrived before her, and suspected she sat in the comfort of her town car, awaiting his arrival, before making her entrance to the dive bar du jour—and a moment later she sidled up beside him at the bar and spoke before she even took her seat.

“What do you have for me, my dear Mr. Patel?”

Her voice never failed to send an unpleasant shiver slithering down his spine, and every time, he spent at least 30 seconds trying to shake it off, along with the unpleasant feeling that lingered behind it. 

“Samuels may be on the move,” he answered. 

“Everyone knows that,” she answered. Her voice indicated that she was clearly unimpressed. “That's what you had to tell me?”

“Soon,” Dev said. The bartender approached their seats at the far end of his workspace, but Madeline waved him away, at least somewhat intrigued by what she was hearing. 

“Go on.”

“People from Justice are digging, asking around, looking for dirt on him. Obviously, they hope not to find any. He's being considered for something, and everyone I talk to says they're leaving no stone unturned, so it's going to be something high-profile. In the age of the big story, no one worries about the head of the Community Relations Service office being caught with a hooker, or forgetting to pay taxes on the maid's salary.”

“What position?” Madeline asked. He hated it when she had to press, always pushing for details, never happy with what he gave her, never content to wait for the story to unfold. 

“I don't know that,” he said. “Yet.” He was quick to add that, certain he'd know soon what was afoot. 

“Moving him out of the way would be beneficial. I assume he knows he's on someone's short list for something.”

“If he does, he's not letting on,” Dev replied. “He's a smart guy, so I'm sure he expects a call someday, but I don't think he's clued in right now. Seems preoccupied, in fact.”

“I need him gone,” Madeline said. “And I need for him to maintain his favorable opinion of Alexandra.”

“He does think very highly of her,” Dev agreed. “But I'm also hearing rumors that he thinks Ted Culbert in the Homicide division might also be a worthy successor.”

“That won't do, Deval,” Madeline said, her voice slightly threatening. “I need you to keep your ear to the ground, of course, but I also need you to begin devising a strategy that will make her seem like not only the best candidate to back, but the only horse in the race. Whoever is going to come out of this in the catbird seat will have to have Samuels' unwavering support. His popularity is baffling to me, but undeniable nevertheless.” 

“How do you want me to...” he began, but she cut him off with a hand placed over his own. 

“The how is none of my concern, my dear,” she said. “I'm all about the ends. The means are your responsibility.” She left, throwing a $20 on the bar to pay for his drink. It was a habit of hers that made him feel like a cross between a 10-year-old boy and a low-rent gigolo, but his distaste for it wasn't going to make her stop. He looked at the bill, crisp and new, as always, and signalled the bartender for another. If they were going to meet in bars this sleazy, where $6 drinks were the rule and not the exception, he might as well reap the benefits. Maybe another gin-and-tonic would get the taste of desperation out his mouth.


	23. Chapter 23

**-23-**

 

As Olivia promised, they were on the road by 6:00, orange light suffusing the eastern horizon as the sun rose. It was a cooler morning—the rain the night before had broken the heatwave, and the air was noticeably crisper as they crossed the Triborough Bridge and headed north on the Bruckner Expressway toward I-95. Alex was quiet, but restless. She shifted positions every few minutes, and deflected Olivia's attempts at conversation. 

 

She did speak when Olivia pulled off in New Rochelle to grab coffee at a Starbucks drive-thru. 

 

“What's wrong?” She seemed startled, and Olivia wondered if she had managed to doze off. 

 

“Nothing's wrong, babe,” Olivia answered. “Just need some caffeine. Want anything?”

 

“There's no time,” Alex said. “Please get back on the road.”

 

Olivia pulled over to the side of the road, and put the car in _PARK_. “Alex, honey, I'm exhausted. It'll take two minutes, okay?” She reached over to hold Alex's hand, but the attorney pulled it back, and refused to make eye contact. 

 

“Fine, if you have to,” she said. “Please hurry.”

 

“Alex, please, honey. Stop punishing yourself, and stop punishing me. We will get there as soon as we can. I'm so very sorry about this, baby, I truly am. But we didn't know. If we had known—if _you_ had known—everything would have been handled much differently.”

 

At last, Alex turned in the seat to face her. “You don't get it, Liv. I should have known. I knew she didn't feel good, but I never followed up or pushed her to tell me what was going on. I was too wrapped up in my own life, and I should have known better. Aunt Jean always told me to stop working and start living, and she thought I was finally making some headway, but I've let her down. I wasn't there when my mom was dying, and now I've wasted so much time. I should have been there as soon as she found out, and I'll never forgive myself.”

 

Olivia started to reassure her, to say all the right things, but Alex waved her off. 

 

“Please, Liv,” she said. “Just do this for me. Get your coffee, and let's drive.”

 

Though she saw pain and suffering every day in her job, Olivia was powerless to resist a plea like that from the one person she loved most in the world. She drove, past the Starbucks and back to the on-ramp for 95 North. Alex glanced over at her but didn't speak.

 

Olivia's voice was quiet and unsteady, as the reality of what was about to happen began to weigh on her. “Coffee can wait,” she said, and accelerated quickly into the left lane, determined to make up some time. 

 

* * *

They spent two days in Branford. Bill and Olivia alternated shifts sitting with Jean. Alex refused to leave, spending every moment there, sleeping in a chair or on a camp cot Bill had brought from the house. The hospice nurses were wonderful, and a team of three doctors were assigned to Jean's care. It was palliative care—Alex had pulled one of the physicians aside almost immediately for his assessment of the situation, and he confirmed that there was no cure, no real treatment at all. They could only hope to keep the patient comfortable at this stage, and to relieve the considerable pain she was in during her last days. 

 

“Two weeks,” Bill had told Olivia in the hallway as Alex visited with Jean that first morning. “They think that's about all the time we have with her.”

 

“Bill, I'm so sorry,” Olivia said. “I make my living dealing with tragedy and sadness, but when it's someone you love, it's so hard to know what to say.”

 

He reached out and hugged her, pulling her close. “Just being here is enough, Olivia. Jean loves you both so much. I'm glad you could come.”

 

“I wish we could've been here sooner.”

 

“I know,” he said. “But she was adamant that I not tell Alex until the time was close at hand. I begged her, but she refused. I couldn't go against her wishes, though I picked up the phone a million times before I made that call yesterday.”

 

“I understand,” Olivia said. He looked tired, and she was reminded that he wasn't a young man himself. This would be exceedingly hard on him, and he would soon be the only thing resembling a parent that either of them had left. “How are you doing, Bill? I can only imagine how difficult this has been.”

 

“I'm okay, or as okay as I can be, thank you,” he said. “I've had some time to adjust to it. Not much, but a little. That's what I wanted for Alex, but Jean knew that our girl would drop everything and run up here, and she didn't want that, not in the middle of that big case. She wouldn't let me call until the verdict was in—Judge Culbert had his clerk call me. Andy's an old friend, and he didn't ask any questions. He knew I wouldn't ask if it weren't important.”

 

“You did what you had to do,” Olivia reassured him. 

 

“How is she, Olivia? I didn't mean to become emotional when I called her yesterday, but as soon as I heard her voice, I just dreaded giving her the news. She's been through so much.”

 

“She's upset with herself, of course. Worried about you. It's going to be a very difficult process for her, I'm sure. It was a hard case she was working, and I think she's been struggling in general lately. I'm glad you called, though. She needs this time with Jean. If she hadn't been able to be here, I think it would have been devastating. Her greatest regret is not being there for her mom.”

 

“She's told me that,” Bill said. “She thinks that her mother might not have even been sick if it hadn’t been for the grief she suffered over losing Alex. I've tried to dissuade her from that line of thinking—it's so destructive. I'm sure that my sister was sick before Alex was shot. She just didn't know until she saw a doctor a couple of months later when her physical pain became so great it overshadowed the emotional pain she was dealing with.”

 

“It's a hard thing for Alex to talk about, even now,” Olivia said. 

 

“I suspect it always will be,” Bill said. “We'd better go in and check on them, Benny.”

 

Olivia smiled, despite the circumstance. She'd finally been bestowed one of Bill Harriman's famous nicknames, and while he didn't use it often, it was a badge of honor for her, a sign of complete acceptance into their family. It meant more to her than she could've imagined. 

 

* * *

**Tuesday, August 27, 2013**

 

After a couple of days, with Jean still holding her own, Olivia had driven back to the city. Alex had was calmer, relieved to find that she still had her Aunt Jean, for a short while at least, and that they could talk and laugh and be together. She reassured Olivia that it was okay to go home for a while, so she worked a couple of days, checking in with multiple phone calls every day, prepared to head back to Connecticut at a moment's notice. Alex had some clothes at the house in Branford, and had even relented and agreed to spend a few hours a day there relaxing while Bill stayed with Jean. She wouldn't admit to it, but she might have actually slept.

 

Liv had packed a bag with more clothes for both of them, and kept it in her trunk at all times, so she could leave if Jean showed even the slightest sign that her condition was worsening. Alex had spoken to Samuels early the morning they had left Manhattan, and he gave her his blessing to stay there as long as she needed. _You've got plenty of time stored up, Cabot. I'll fire you if you don't use whatever you need. We'll be fine here._ She was worried about her next case with Hammond, and about the negotiations looming with Bannon.

 

She relaxed after a phone call from Hammond, whose reassurances meant far more to her than those of Samuels. “Alex, stay as long as you need to,” he said. “Bannon can stew a while. It'll be good for him. And the next case isn't anytime soon, and can be postponed as long as is necessary.”

 

“Thank you, Jack,” she said. Truth be told, she had no intention of heading back to the office, but Hammond's call was a blessing of sorts, and that was a much-needed relief for someone like Alex, who still cared far too much about her work than she cared to admit, even when everything else was falling down around her ears.

 

Olivia, too, had plenty of time stored up, so she worked a couple of days, then went to Connecticut for a couple of days, off and on, back and forth. She was able to keep things moving on her pending case, and provide support and a respite for Alex and Bill when she came up. On her second trip up, about a week after Alex had received the initial call from Bill, Olivia and Jean were alone in the room one afternoon. They had watched a show on PBS—a documentary on the American musical that kept Jean's attention for two hours, and distracted her from the pain for nearly that long. 

 

When it was over, Olivia asked if she wanted to watch anything else. Jean's voice was somewhat weakened, but she was still speaking clearly and talked to all of them as much as she could. 

 

“Turn it off, please,” Jean said.

 

“Do you need me to get the nurse?” Olivia asked.

 

“Not yet, dear,” Jean said. “But we watched that for a long time, so I'm sure my husband or my niece will be appearing again soon for the changing of the guard.”

 

Olivia laughed a bit, but nodded. She was amazed that, with all the pain and all the meds, Jean still kept her wits about her, and her sense of humor intact. 

 

“Before they return, I want to talk to you,” Jean said. “I don't want to upset you, but there are things I need to say.”

 

“Of course,” Olivia said, and scooted her chair as close to the bed as she could. She took Jean's hand in her own, careful not to jostle any IV ports or tubes in the process. 

 

“Just a couple of things,” Jean said. “Bear with me.”

 

She adjusted herself in the bed a little, and Olivia helped to situate her pillow the way she liked it. Then she talked.

 

“First, my niece has made some noises about a bedside wedding, Olivia. I've forbidden it, and I want to make sure you know that I do not approve of that idea at all.”

 

“Why not?” Olivia couldn't help but ask. She'd thought about it herself, both so that they could have Jean with them on their wedding day, and to ease Alex's guilt, at least a little. “We'd be happy to do it.”

 

“Well, I wouldn't be.” Jean's voice was as emphatic as it had been since they'd arrived. “You two deserve a beautiful wedding, not some hasty affair in this sickroom. Let's face it, it's fine for a hospice, but leaves a lot to be desired for a romantic wedding.”

 

Olivia laughed, but didn't speak, knowing the energy it took for Jean to say so much at one go. 

 

“I know you'll be married, as soon as the time is right, and I know it will be beautiful. I've seen her dress and that's all I need. I want your day to be a happy one, Olivia. I insist on it, in fact.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

“And, I need you to take care of her. She's 50% Harriman and 50% Cabot, and that means she's 100% stubborn. She works so hard, and I've always been proud of her, but she needs to live her life, too. I know you'll make sure of that.”

 

“I will,” Olivia answered.

 

“Don't just say that to placate a dying old lady, Olivia,” Jean said. “You let her postpone the wedding, and I know you just want her to be happy, but you make her happier than anyone she's ever known. It's not work, and it's not success. It's you. Don't let her lose sight of that. I'll haunt you until the day you die.”

 

Olivia laughed a little, and Jean did too. But then she said, “I'm not kidding. You don't want to have a ghost following you around for the next 50 years, do you?”

 

Olivia shook her head. _No._ This woman, exhausted and dying, was also incredibly perceptive. She knew how inclined Olivia was to give Alex whatever she wanted. She also knew that wasn't exactly what her niece needed, and Olivia resolved to herself to be stronger in taking care of Alex, and making her slow down and live her life. 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**-24-**

 

**Friday, September 6, 2013**

 

Olivia was with Nick at a scene when the call came. He was interviewing the lone witness, though _witness_ implied that the person had seen or heard something, a fact that he adamantly denied. She had been talking to Warner when her phone rang. Melinda saw Alex's face on the caller ID and waved her away. “Take that call, Liv.”

 

Olivia was as close to Melinda as she was to anyone in the 1-6, and had told her a few days prior what was going on with Alex's aunt. “Thanks, Melinda,” she said as she turned her back to the crowd of cops and scene techs, and slid her thumb across the screen. 

 

“Baby,” she said, eschewing her usual professional greeting. She recognized Alex's soft crying before the blonde said anything. “Honey, is it time? I can leave right now.”

 

“She's gone, Liv. “I'm sorry I didn't call. It was all rather sudden, and the doctor said there wouldn't be time. I didn't want you to risk rushing up here.”

 

“Oh, Alex, honey. I'm so sorry. I should have been there with you.”

 

“It's okay, babe, really,” Alex said. “I'm doing okay. I wish you could have come, but it was fast, and that's a blessing. She's been suffering for so long.”

 

“I know, you're right. I'm just being selfish. I would have liked to see her again, and to be there with you and Bill.”

 

“You will be, Liv,” Alex assured her. “There are some hard days ahead. I know she would have loved to see you again, but she wasn't herself the last few hours. I'd rather that you take your time. Finish what you're doing, drive up later this evening if you can. She and Bill had already made most of the funeral arrangements, but he and I have a few things to take care of and then we'll be home when you get there.”

 

“Alright. As long as you're okay. I can leave now, if you like. It's not a problem.”

 

“You know, I'm really okay. Surprisingly good, actually. Jean and I had a nice talk last night. I didn't call you because it was so late, and I was sorting it all out in my mind, but my mom knew, Liv. She knew.”

 

“Knew what, honey?” 

 

“Knew that I was alive,” Alex said. “Before she died, she knew that I was alive.”

 

“How do you know?” Olivia was concerned that Alex wasn't doing as well as she claimed to be. 

 

“It was something she had said to Jean, near the end of her life. They were discussing her burial arrangements, and they asked her if she wanted to be buried near me. _She's not there_ , she told them. _Bury me near Evan, because Alex isn't there. She's okay. I don't know where, but she's okay._ They assumed she was hallucinating, all the meds, you know. But as they were cleaning out her hospital room the day she died, a nurse mentioned the man who had been to see her. She said no-one else had been there, and she didn't recognize the man, but assumed he was a relative. He was only with her for a few minutes, but the nurse said after he left, my mom seemed at peace. The next day, she told them that she wanted to be with Evan, and she was gone two days later.”

 

“But who?” Olivia was baffled, and wanted for Alex's sake to believe it, but it seemed too fantastical. Who could it have been? Elliot would never have risked Alex's life by telling anyone, no matter the reason.

 

“Jack,” Alex said. 

 

“Jack?”

 

“Hammond,” she clarified. “He had kept tabs on her. The threats before I was shot had included her, as well, so they were making sure that she wasn't still on Velez's radar. If they had tried to hurt her, it would have also meant they suspected I was still alive. Hammond knew she was dying, and waited until the last possible moment to visit her.”

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“I called him,” Alex said. “He denied it, of course. But then he said, _Whoever did that was doing the humane thing at a time when no harm could come of it. She loved you very much, Alex._ I know it was him.”

 

“How do you feel, Alex?” Olivia wanted that story to be true, more than she'd wanted anything in quite a while, actually. More importantly, though, as long as Alex believed it, that's all that mattered.

 

“I feel like a huge weight has been lifted, Liv. She knew I was alive, and she knew why I couldn't be with her,” Alex said. “She's still gone, of course, and so is Aunt Jean, but knowing this changes everything for me.” 

 

“I'm so glad, sweetheart. I know how much peace that must bring you.”

 

“It does,” Alex agreed, and was quiet for a moment. “I miss you, sweetheart.”

 

Olivia smiled. It was always nice to be needed, after all. “I'll be there this evening, honey. Call me if you need anything, and I'll let you know when I head your direction.”

 

* * *

Olivia arrived that night around 8:30, and she and Bill and Alex sat out on the deck, drinking and laughing and crying together. They all felt relieved that Jean's suffering was over. As much as they'd do anything to have her back, seeing her in worsening pain had been hard for all of them. That night, after they'd said goodnight to Bill and retreated to their usual room, Alex had needed to be touched, and held, and to feel alive and cared for. They had silent but frantic sex, then rested only a few minutes before Alex rolled out of Olivia's arms and slid down her tanned body to make love to the detective with her tongue, and her long, skillful fingers. It was a release, and one they both needed. Olivia came quietly, whispering Alex's name and running a hand through her long, blonde hair. 

 

After Olivia's orgasm subsided, she pulled Alex up and kissed her deeply on the mouth. They slept soon after, and were pleased just to be near one another all night. 

 

They made love several times while they were in Connecticut, and despite her sadness, Alex was like a woman who had just shed the weight of the world from her shoulders. Grief was funny like, that, Olivia thought, with everyone just fumbling along to find their own way in a future they hadn't wanted, and any new loss seemed to bring all of the old hurts and sorrows to the surface, fresh scars forming alongside wounds long thought healed.

 

She recalled a Barthes quote Serena Benson had loved: _Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering._ It was undeniably true. Liv found herself once again mourning her mother, the emotions as painful and confusing as if she had died only yesterday. More troubling were the dreams she had in which she was holding Alex as the life seeped from her body, and even waking up to gather that same sleepy, warm, very much alive body in her arms didn't seem as real as the images she saw when her eyes were closed. _  
_

The funeral was two days later, and the morning afterward, they said their goodbyes to Bill after he promised to drive down the next weekend for a visit. Alex drove them back to New York, and at one point she noticed Olivia watching her.

 

“What?” she laughed. 

 

“You're back,” Olivia said. 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Olivia pondered her answer for just a second, not sure how to phrase it. Honesty was best, she decided. “I don't know, really,” she began. “You've been a little haunted for a while, though. And I feel like you're back now. You've got that spark again, and I know it's going to be hard, but I feel like we can handle it.”

 

“We can,” Alex said, and reached over to take Olivia's hand, kissing each knuckle in turn without taking her eyes off the road. “I miss her so much, Liv, and I know Uncle Bill will need us to be strong for him. But she gave me the best gift I could have imagined. I feel free, like the last ghost of that strange existence in the program is finally gone. I can live my life again. And the first thing I want to do is reschedule our wedding.”

 

“Perfect,” Olivia said. “You have one more pressing case on your docket, and I have the sergeant's exam on October 19th. How about a couple of weeks after that, on November 16th? Does that give us time to do some planning?”

 

“Sounds like you've already thought this through, Detective Benson.” Her voice was serious, but her eyes were laughing.

 

“I have,” Liv admitted. 

 

“Good,” Alex said, and looked at her, flashing a brilliant smile that Olivia hadn't seen for far too long. “That's perfect. We don't need much time to plan. If we can't get the place we want, we'll find a place. The date is set, and that's all that matters. No more postponements.”

 

“Promise?” Olivia wanted to believe that.

 

“I promise,” Alex answered. “Enjoy what little freedom you have left, Liv. You'll be Mrs. Me before you know it.”

 

* * *

 

“ _You’ll get over it…_ It’s the clichés that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because _it_ is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never loses. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. 

Why would I want them to?” **  
**

**-from** _**Written on the Body** _

**by Jeanette Winterson**


	25. Chapter 25

**-25-**

 

**Tuesday, September 17, 2013**

 

Once they were back home, cases new and old clamored for most of their attention, and seemingly endless mounds of paperwork took nearly all that was left. They were doing better about getting home to spend at least a couple of hours together, and Alex was taking every spare moment in her day to rearrange the wedding plans and get everything re-booked for mid-November. They were looking in earnest now for a new apartment, too, having decided that they wanted to start married life in someplace that was entirely theirs. Alex's apartment was full of love now, but she couldn't entirely shake the memories of having fled here for a change of scenery after ending things with Madeline, and all of the lonely nights that followed. 

 

The respite was very real, but unfortunately also short-lived. Alex was almost immediately thrown from the frying pan into the fire, when Hammond had called on her first Monday back. It was time to go visit Bannon, and lay out the terms of her deal before his sentencing. He was due back in court on the 23rd, and they wanted to have a few days to put the pressure on him.

 

She made the trip out to Rikers late that afternoon, by herself. Her collusion with the Feds was still, as far as she knew, under wraps, and she wanted to keep it that way as soon as possible. Jack had told her to call him as soon as she left the meeting, and when she did, she felt fairly confident that he'd be turning state's evidence by the middle of the week.

 

Her confidence, it turned out, was entirely unwarranted. Hammond appeared in her office before noon the next morning, and he wasn't alone. The young man with him looked for all the world like one of her wet-behind-the-ears ADAs back in Appeals, and he certainly wasn't anyone she'd met during her frequent trips to Washington.

 

Hammond didn't have an appointment, but Ellen knew by now that he had carte blanche to see her boss whenever he wanted, and Alex greeted him warmly.

 

“Good morning, Jack,” she said. “I'm glad you dropped by instead of calling. There's been no word from Bannon's attorney yet, but I'm keeping the lines clear for an inevitable phone call.”

 

“I wouldn't hold my breath,” he said. 

 

“Well, I'm not exactly holding my breath,” she said. “But I think he'll deal. And who have you brought with you today, another one of your colleagues?”

 

“Alex, we have a problem.”

 

“What do you mean?” He never exaggerated. She knew this. 

 

“He's not going to deal,” Hammond said. “Less than two hours after you left there yesterday, we picked up some chatter on a wiretap out of Rikers. Bannon was supposed to be on lockdown, but there was some mixup, and he was in the exercise yard around dinnertime. He spoke to a low-life who's in for drugs. Turns out he's a low-level functionary in Bayardo's organization, trying to make his bones. He had the information to Bayardo's lieutenants by ten o'clock last night.”

 

“What are you saying, exactly?” She was on tenterhooks, and only years of handling surprises in court was helping her to keep her emotions under control. She was standing at her desk, and as he spoke, she moved out from behind the wooden furniture that doubled as her psychological fortress, and began pacing the room.

 

“Bayardo knows that you're working with us, Alex. He's privy to the offer you made to Bannon, and we weren't ready for this. Not yet.”

 

“Not ready for this?” Alex's voice was raised. She wasn't quite shouting, but it wouldn't be long. “How the hell could this happen? If you knew one of Bayardo's thugs was in Rikers, how in hell did anyone let Bannon out of solitary?”

 

“We didn't know,” Hammond admitted, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, Alex. This wasn't part of the plan.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said, shaking her head. “Now what? And who in the hell is this?” She gestured at the young man with him, suddenly sick of all of this bullshit and latching on to the first tangible thing she could focus her anger on.

 

“Your protective detail.”

 

She stopped pacing and sat down on the sofa. “This isn't fucking happening.”

 

“It is, and I'm sorry,” Hammond said. “It's precautionary, Alex. There are no threats against you.”

 

“Yet.” She was furious, and clearly very frightened. “No threats against me, yet.”

 

“Look, damn it, we're trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Sullivan here is undercover. We entered the building separately, and he already has ADA credential and an employee file going back three years in this office. He's one of your new ADAs, that's all anyone needs to know.”

 

“Great,” Alex said. “So, Doogie Howser here follows me around all day, checking every toilet stall in the building every time I need to wash my hands. I'm sure no-one will find that odd.”

 

“Ms. Cabot...” 

 

Alex cut him off. “Agent Sullivan, it's nothing personal, I assure you. I have no doubt you are very good at your job, but every time I cross paths with your esteemed colleague, I end up running for my life,” she said sharply, then turned her attention back to Hammond. “What about at home, Jack? Am I going to have to make a pallet at the foot of the bed for him, or will you send a female agent to spell him for the night shift?”

 

“Neither.”

 

He said no more, waiting for her to flame out so that she could concentrate and hear what he had to say. He needed her complete focus. She paced, and he waited her out.

 

“Is this a fucking joke?” She finally stopped moving and spat out the words at him, knowing all the while it was nothing of the sort. 

 

He was tempted to give her his usual speech, _standard operating procedure_ , and all that bullshit. But she'd earned the right to be involved in these decisions. She also deserved his concern. 

 

“I'm afraid it's not, Alex,” he said evenly. “But we can manage this. We'll have an unmarked car follow you home. Your building is fairly secure, and we'll supplement that with a few additional measures. Detective Benson need not even know.”

 

“Because you know how she'll react. I'll be off this case in a heartbeat if she finds out.” She walked around her desk and sat down heavily, throwing her glasses on top of a six-inch stack of file folders and leaning back in her chair. She fixed her sapphire gaze on the two men, and motioned to the chairs facing her. “If you can manage to pull this off without her finding out, it'll be a fucking miracle, butI'm in too deep to get out, so why don't you gentlemen sit down and tell me what you have in mind.”

 

“Sullivan will be with you every moment that it would make sense for you to be with a colleague,” Hammond began. “We'll have a detail on you, or on your apartment, at all times. It's a rota of guys I've hand-picked, Alex. They'll hang back when Detective Benson is with you. I know she's armed, and she'll protect you. When you're on your own, and Sullivan can't be with you, they'll stick very close but stay out of your way. You can do anything you like. Just go about your normal routine.”

 

“It's been a hell of a long time since my _normal routine_ involved an armed federal agent watching my every move,” she said. “But that only answers part of my question, Jack. I can't have 24-hour bodyguards for the rest of my life. What are we going to do?”

 

“We'll rush the next case. If Bannon won't flip, the next guy will. We knew it might take a couple of tries, and now we simply have to accelerate the timeline. I'll get you to Quantico as soon as possible, middle of next week at the latest. Between us, we should be able to get a court date soon. I can keep you at Quantico for as long as I need to, but I know you don't want that. Let's get in front of a judge and get this over with, okay?”

 

“You say that like I have a choice in the matter,” she replied. 

 

“You do, Alex. You can step down from this operation. We'll figure something out. It will take a while, though. We'll have to find another ADA, or work out some other plan of attack, a different angle to get at Bayardo. Maybe another jurisdiction. We'll get him, one way or another, you can be sure of that. But if we lose you from the team, it will delay things. We'll protect you until the threat is dealt with, because I won't feel that you're safe until we finish what we set out to do,” Hammond said. “The choice is entirely up to you.”

 

“I'm in, but I'm not happy about it,” she announced, after a moment's consideration. “You knew I had no other choice, Jack. I don't leave my messes for someone else to clean up.”


	26. Chapter 26

**-26-**

 

**Sunday, September 29, 2013**

 

Olivia woke up to find the bed empty and the apartment quiet. She had no idea what time it was, but the early-autumn light flooding the room told her it was much later than she normally slept. She lay there a moment or two, called out Alex's name and got no response, and finally rolled over to check the clock: 9:45. She couldn't remember the last time she'd stayed in bed so long, at least not alone.

 

She threw a t-shirt and yoga pants over her naked body and headed into the kitchen to make coffee. She hoped that Alex was out getting breakfast. They could linger over the paper, then go for a run and have a late lunch somewhere. Olivia was planning a trip to St. Louis soon—everything they'd come up with in New York was a dead-end, and Cragen hoped that walking in the footsteps their killer had left halfway across the country might help connect some dots. 

 

Alex was heading out of town herself in less than 24 hours, back to Washington for three days to do final prep the next case, some doctor named Rand Gordon. Her trial date was a week away, on October 7th, and even though she'd gotten a conviction on Bannon, she hadn't even allowed herself to celebrate. She seemed guarded and more than a little out of sorts, and Olivia felt like they were just going through the motions at home. Neither of them had time or energy to do much more. 

 

By the time Liv had poured her coffee and opened up the paper on the kitchen counter, Alex came in, but she didn't look like she'd been getting croissants. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and her face was sweaty and flushed with exertion. She stopped short when she saw Olivia.

 

“You're up,” she remarked. 

 

“Yeah, sorry I slept so late. You should have woken me up, babe.”

 

Alex walked over and set her water bottle down on the table, immediately leaving a ring of condensation on the sports section, making a nearly perfect frame for Mariano Rivera's face. She leaned over and kissed Olivia on the forehead. _Not exactly what I might've liked_ , Olivia thought, _but I'll take it._

 

“I didn't want to wake you, honey,” Alex said as she stepped into the kitchen to pour her own cup of coffee. “You've been working too hard, and not sleeping well when you do go to bed.”

 

“Which you only notice because you're never asleep yourself,” Olivia teased lightly. 

 

“I'll be okay,” Alex said. She sat down at the table and picked up the front page. “The end is in sight.”

 

“Is it really?” Olivia asked. The attorney had said very little about these cases, because she knew Olivia was concerned, and because she now knew those concerns were wholly justified. She wasn't a good liar, not to Olivia, and not about things that mattered, so she was better off just avoiding the subject altogether.

 

“I think so,” she said. “This case looks good. I think we'll get him, and then maybe I can turn in my DOJ consultant's badge.”

 

“You won the last case.” Olivia's tone was even, but there was no denying the question hidden in that brief sentence. _You won the last case, and you're still wearing that damn badge, and still flying down to Washington every other week. What makes this one different?_

 

Alex didn't want to touch that. It seemed like a casual observation, but she knew that any answer would lead to another question, and so on. She'd committed to Hammond that she'd finish this—she owed him—and she just needed to put her head down and get through it, so she could get her life back and stop looking over her shoulder all the time. She changed the subject. “Well, baby, we have a whole day together, if that phone of yours doesn't ring,” she said. “What would you like to do?”

 

“I thought we'd go for a run together, and then have a huge late lunch somewhere,” Olivia said. “But I see I slept through the _run_ part.”

 

“Oh, I didn't run,” Alex said. “I drove over to SoulCycle for the 8:30 class.”

 

“You drove to SoulCycle?” Olivia asked. “It's two blocks away, Alex.”

 

“Yeah, I guess I wasn't thinking.”

 

“Honey, are you okay?” Olivia was growing very concerned. Alex's behavior had grown increasingly odd, and this was just another thing on the list. 

 

“Sure,” Alex said. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, you never really go to spin class in the spring or fall. The weather's so great outside, you always want to run in the park. And you've never driven the car over there. Ever, not even when it was 7 degrees last winter.”

 

“Don't interrogate me, Benson,” she said. She smiled as if it might have been a joke, but there were sharp edges in her voice. She was irritated, and not hiding it well. “I was where I said I was. Wanna put surveillance on me?”

 

“No, Alex, I don't,” Olivia said. “I wasn't interrogating you. I'm just looking out for you.”

 

“Well, there are plenty of people doing that,” Alex said, and walked out of the room toward the steps. “I'll take a shower and then we can make plans. Maybe a movie.” She clearly wasn't open to further conversation, and Olivia sat there replaying the conversation, trying to make sense of it while feeling like she was reading a novel that was missing a page.

* * *

Upstairs, Alex stripped quickly and walked straight into the shower, freezing under the initial blast of cool water from above but willing to endure it to forestall any further questions if Olivia decided to follow her upstairs.

 

She knew her behavior was odd, and she could have explained it easily, but the truth would have sent Olivia over the edge. She was already afraid that the detective would notice the detail that was on Alex, and on their building, or that one of the doormen would see the same person loitering around one too many times and call the police. They were very protective of her, and as much as she appreciated it, right now that would be a disaster. She normally craved Olivia's company and attention, but lately she found herself glad that they were both so distracted that what little time they could manage was spent tucked up at home.

 

She had gotten up early and left the house quietly, so as not to wake Olivia. She hadn't been lying about her morning—she had driven to SoulCycle and she had taken the 8:30 class. But the _why_ was the part she wasn't willing to disclose. She drove because it was safer. She went to spinning because it was safer. She changed up her routine because it was safer. That was her only concern now. _Safer, safer, safer_. 

 

She had wanted to go running, really. It was a gorgeous Sunday, and they would nearly always take advantage of a day like that to run six or seven miles, and shower, and enjoy a wonderful lunch somewhere in the neighborhood, and then spend the afternoon in bed. 

 

She couldn't run, though, not now. No one had forbidden it, of course. _Just go about your normal routine_ , Hammond had said. But every time she thought about lacing up her shoes and heading out, she could see Tim Donovan sitting across the table, Liv on her right and Elliot on her left, while a disembodied voice on a recorder told someone when and where she liked to run. It would be a perfect opportunity to take a shot, and she knew it. Even an armed guard jogging beside her couldn't protect her in a wide open space. 

 

She tried very hard to ignore all of this, focus all of her anger, and fear, and frustration on building a rock-solid case that would leave this guy with no options but to give her whatever she wanted. It wasn't easy. The years, and everything she'd been through, had stripped away all the bluster and bombast that had allowed her to sail so close to the wind all those years ago. Her stomach was in knots all the time, and she couldn't confide in the one person whose support she needed most.

  
She'd had a neighbor in Wisconsin, a private pilot, who'd told her that an airplane makes three kinds of motions in-flight: the roll, the pitch, and the yaw. The pitch and the roll don't really make anyone sick, but the yaw nauseates nearly everyone. Standing in the shower, she recalled the way he had held his hand out to demonstrate, flapping up and down from the wrist, then rolling side-to-side, thumb up and then down, and finally holding his palm down flat and moving his hand side to side, parallel to the ground. 

 

Alex held her own hand out now, and found that it was shaking uncontrollably. She didn't like what this was doing to her, but she didn't see any way out now. There was no side door, no emergency exit, not one fucking escape hatch that she could find. She stared at her trembling fingers as salty tears mixed with the hot water running down her face. 


	27. Chapter 27

**-27-**

 

**Wednesday, October 9, 2013**

 

**Saint Louis, Missouri**

 

 

Olivia had spent her third day in St. Louis visiting the dump locations across the river with Mackey, and talking with the Belleville detectives. All of their notes were part of the Major Case file, of course, but Olivia always preferred to talk face-to-face if possible. She'd spend the better part of 20 years pressing her business card into the hands of witnesses, re-interviewing them weeks or even months after a crime, because sometimes memories surfaced, and seemingly unimportant details could help solve a case. She believed it held true for cops, too, especially those who were dealing with cases out of their normal comfort zone.

 

They hadn't gotten much, but Kris wasn't one to argue with the method. _Ask, and ask again, then ask one more time_ , she thought. _Ask as often as you have to until you have the permission you want or the answers you need._

 

Since Benson's arrival three days earlier, days they'd spent re-examining every aspect of every murder, both of them had grown more certain than ever that they had a serial killer splitting his time between their cities. As they drove back across the Poplar Street Bridge, Kris flipped her visor down to shield against the afternoon sun they were driving into. It had hit 89 degrees at 3:30, and the heat index was up over 90, not quite a record high but uncomfortable nonetheless. 

 

“Indian Summer,” Kris observed. “You okay, Benson?”

 

“I'm alright, thanks, just a bit tired,” Olivia lied. She was exhausted, battered by a combination of the unexpected heat and humidity, and a profound lack of sleep. Even when she cooled down enough to sleep, the details of these cases—seven women, raped and murdered, that she knew of—danced around the edges of her every thought. When she did doze, it was intermittent and less than restful. 

 

Even calls home failed to calm her. Nick was working regular cases and doggedly following preposterous leads on the serial cases at the same time, while Alex was in court all day, and then burning the midnight oil at home. It had been years since Olivia had seen her so obsessed with a case. She hated being here instead of there, even though she knew there was precious little she could do to help. Alex had told her as much on the phone that morning.

 

“ _Did you sleep at all?” Olivia had asked._

 

“ _As much as you did, Liv,” Alex replied. “So, care to tell me how much we slept?”_

 

“ _Not really,” Olivia laughed._

 

“ _That's what I thought,” Alex said._

 

“ _Counselor, that self-satisfied smirk is unbecoming. I should hold you in contempt.”_

 

“ _You can't even see me,” Alex protested. “There's no smirk.”_

 

“ _I don't need to_ see _you. I_ know _you. Inside and out.”_

 

“ _That you do,” Alex conceded. “Just do what you have to do and come home, Benson. I'll sleep better when you're in bed with me.”_

 

“Dinner plans, Olivia?”

 

Olivia realized Kris was speaking to her, and she brought herself back from her bed in New York, and Alex's arms, to the SLMPD unmarked. “No,” she said. “Probably just grab something near the hotel. This heat is frying what little brain I have left.”

 

“You have hot weather in New York,” Mackey laughed. 

 

“We do,” Olivia agreed. “But I don't know. It feels _heavier_ here. And it's October. How in hell do you stand a whole summer of it?”

 

“Simple. I have a pool. And you need to get out of that hotel. Come over this evening. I'll throw together a salad or something and we can sit outside and dangle our feet in the pool while we talk shop. Gotta pick your brain as much as possible before you head back home tomorrow.”

 

“Sounds good,” Olivia said. “But I really should...”

 

“What?” Kris interrupted. “Eat crappy chain food from that TGI Friday's by your hotel and brood about this fucking case? Ridiculous. I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll drop you off at the precinct. Get your car, go back to the hotel and call home, and come over at 6:30. I know it's a school night. You'll be back at your hotel by 10.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise,” Mackey said.

 

“Fine, why not?” It didn't sound half-bad, really. It wasn't something she'd normally do, but then again, this wasn't somewhere she'd normally be, either. 

 

“I like the way you think, Detective,” Kris said. “I'll give you my address and you can just GPS me on your phone. It's in South City, maybe 10 minutes from your hotel.”

 

* * *

A little after 6:30, Liv found herself traveling along South Broadway, a wide boulevard that curved and meandered as it hugged the Mississippi shoreline. Heavy industry fronted the water, and the road was flanked with breweries and a farmer's market. Then suddenly it gave way to a residential area, and the modest one- and two-story brick houses on her right were nice, but they couldn't hold a candle to the large homes and high-rise apartments on the river-side. She was enjoying this brief exploration of a new city, and not paying much attention to her phone, when the navigation app's disembodied voice made an unexpected announcement:

 

_Destination is on your left in a quarter-mile._

 

On the left? _Must be one of these apartment buildings_ , she thought. But she was wrong. The clipped enunciation emanating from her iPhone soon told her to turn left at a sprawling, Modernist home up on the bluff, just visible at the end of a long driveway flanked every few yards by abstract sculpture and gorgeous white oak trees. She glanced down just long enough to determine that the address Kris had written down for her did, in fact, match the large address marker, four steel numbers in red, blue, yellow and green, reminiscent of Robert Indiana's LOVE sculpture. 

 

She parked at the apex of the sloping circle drive, near the front door of a huge two-story house with a five-car garage. She realized she hadn't asked Mackey about her life off the job—they'd exchanged only the briefest conversation that wasn't work-related—but this was a definite surprise. As she approached the glass entryway, she could see straight through the house to the river beyond, loaded with tugs and barges.

 

Just as she was about to ring the bell, Kris passed by the door and smiled saw her, opening the door with a big smile. “Right on time,” she said. “I just finished the salad and turned on the grill to make us some salmon. The beer is cold and the humidity is dropping, so we're all set.”

 

Olivia laughed as she stepped from the foyer into a massive great room, dining and living areas on the left and a gleaming gourmet kitchen on the right. Straight ahead, the entire back wall of the house was made of windows, offering a panorama of the river and a deck running the length of the house. 

 

“Hell of a view,” Olivia said. “The sunrises must be amazing.”

 

“I've been told,” Kris replied cryptically. “I'm usually at work by that time, and if I'm home, I'm sound asleep. If the sun rises, and there's no one there to see it...”

 

“You live here alone?” The idea that one person would have such a huge house seemed incomprehensible to a born-and-bred New Yorker like Olivia, but she had a strong hunch that Mackey rattled around all these rooms by herself. She hadn't hear any mention of _us, we_ or _ours,_ and this sleek, modern house seemed to be devoid of even the slightest personal touches: no framed photo, no keys on the hall table, no notes or reminders stuck to the SubZero refrigerator, and not a single knick-knack or discarded shoe or half-read book. In fact, as she followed Kris to the kitchen, she realized that the only things differentiating this place from a spread in Architectural Digest were the few empty spots on the wall where art had once obviously hung.

 

“I do now,” Mackey replied. “Just me, myself and I.” She didn't elaborate, and Olivia didn't ask, chastising herself for noting the details like it was a crime scene.

 

“Well, it's a beautiful place,” Olivia said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

 

“You're more than welcome. It's nice to have company, and besides, you can't eat the Friday's appetizer combo every night while you're here.” She gestured to two wine glasses and a corkscrew on the black concrete countertop. “If you can grab those, I'll get the salad and wine. I thought we'd eat out on the deck.”

 

Olivia followed her to the lower level, finding herself in another huge room, this one equipped with comfy couches, a huge TV and a bar that most restaurants would envy. This level, too, was all glass on the east side, and gave way to another huge patio with a hot tub, spacious dining and seating areas shaded by the deck above, and a beautiful infinity-edge pool that seemed to extend out over the river.

 

Kris politely overlooked her overt gaping, and Olivia gathered herself as they placed the items on the table, already neatly set, and Kris tended to the salmon. It was cooking on a cedar plank on the grill, and the smell was heavenly. Liv had been in beautiful homes before, of course—she loved the new apartment she and Alex were about to move into, even though it seemed too big to her—but something about this place was very surprising. Mackey was a cop, straightforward and no-frills. She had mentioned her dad being a cop, too, and nothing about her indicated that she lived in a million-dollar modern-art masterpiece. There was more to Kris than met the eye, apparently.

 

They enjoyed a leisurely dinner, talking a little bit about work—the case, the departments they each worked for, and why they had become cops. A couple of glasses of wine had washed over Olivia, and her guard was down. She told Kris her story—the full, unadulterated version that she didn't normally share. She owed everything she was, including her very existence, to the fact that her mother was rape victim, and that wasn't your usual cocktail-party chatter.

 

“That explains a lot,” Kris replied when she was done. Mackey used the phrase a lot, and it neatly encapsulated her personality, or at least what Olivia knew of it so far. Her delivery was dry, but you could always tell if she was being serious or sarcastic, whether the information being offered truly elucidated everything, or if the failure of the explanation to actually explain anything merely bear out the fact that some things were unknowable. Olivia chuckled.

 

“No, really,” Mackey continued. “Sex crimes is a shitty beat. If you don't have an axe to grind, it must be an even bigger black hole.”

 

Olivia nodded. It was all that needed to be said. Kris herself wasn't in sex crimes. She was homicide, but their Major Case team did include a couple of sex crimes detectives from other precincts, and she'd gotten to know them well. 

 

“How about you?” Olivia asked. “You were pretty much born into it, I guess.” 

 

“Not exactly,” Kris replied. “My dad was a detective, but he didn't go to the Academy until I was 6, and he got his gold shield when I was about 12. Before that, he was a lawyer.”

 

“That's an unusual career path,” Olivia remarked. “I've known quite a few cops who went to law school, but I can't say that I've ever heard the opposite. He must have been a bit older than the other rookies.”

 

“He was 34,” Kris said, and her face seemed to cloud over for a second. She stood abruptly and began clearing dishes.

 

“Let me help,” Olivia offered.

 

“Oh, no worries, I've got it,” Kris said. “There's more wine in the refrigerator behind the bar. Want to grab some and meet me back out here in 5?”

 

Olivia got the wine, and she rolled up her jeans and sat down at the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the cool water. Their discussion had hit a nerve, gotten too close to a long-buried mine, and just as surely as she knew that this was the point at which she'd subject a suspect to a full-court press, she also knew that she couldn't do that here. This woman wasn't being questioned. She was a colleague, could maybe even become a friend, and one of the many things she'd learned in her life with Alex was when to back off. 

 

Olivia was surprised, then when Kris spoke the moment she reached the pool deck. 

 

“I'm a cop because my dad was. And he was a cop because he had to be. My baby brother was murdered, Olivia.”

 

 _Sometimes_ , Liv thought, _someone opens the door, just a crack, and all of the secrets we keep and stories we hide come rushing out into the light._

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**-28-**

 

**New York City**

 

Alex was working at home again, having been escorted safely to her front door by one or another of Hammond's team. She hated being glad Olivia wasn't around this week. It made it easier, just a few days of not worrying about the cop who shared her bed noticing the phalanx of federal agents trailer her every other moment of the day. 

 

She tried Olivia for the third time in an hour. They had talked earlier, when Liv called to tell her she was joining Mackey for dinner, but for some reason she really needed to hear her voice again. The two detectives were probably shooting the breeze and Olivia wasn't even paying attention to her phone, and Alex felt silly for calling so many times. 

 

Finally, on the fourth try, she forced herself to leave a message, knowing the barrage of missed calls would frighten Olivia if there were no accompanying voicemail. 

 

“ _Babe, it's me. I hope you're having a wonderful time. Just wanted to hear your voice, but I suppose voicemail will have to do. I'm going to take a bath, try to relax a bit, and maybe get a good night's sleep for a change. Feeling a little nervous about tomorrow, though I'm not sure why. Sleep well, my love, and have sweet dreams. I can't wait to see you at home tomorrow night.”_

 

It was true, she was heading to bed early, though she doubted she'd sleep. A strange feeling had been sitting on her shoulder all day. She was unsettled, and had no idea why. This case couldn't end soon enough. If she could just hang on a few more weeks, she'd be married, and off on a honeymoon she'd waited a very long time for. _Thirty-eight days, Cabot. Just keep it together for 38 days._

 

* * *

**Saint Louis**

 

Olivia wasn't sure who was more stunned, her or Kris. “I'm sorry.” It was all Olivia could say. She sensed a more complete retelling was still to come, and she was right.

 

Kris sat down beside her and began to talk. “When I was 5, and my brother Kent was 3, he was abducted and murdered. It was a guy who did yard work here in town. He'd been accused of molesting two little boys in a neighborhood near downtown, and my dad defended him.”

 

“Defended him?” 

 

“Yes, defended him,” Kris confirmed. “My dad was a public defender, a bleeding-heat liberal who believed everyone deserved a fair trial and a competent defense. He was convinced that the guy, Michael Burke, was being railroaded. He got the charges reduced, Burke served six months of a two-year sentence, and then my dad actually hired him to do our lawn. The guy had been a landscaper but couldn't get any work because of the charges. My dad hired him, recommended him to the neighbors, the whole nine yards. That evil son of a bitch repaid him by kidnapping, raping and killing my 3-year-old brother.”

 

“Oh, my God, Kris. I don't know what to say.”

 

“It's okay, Olivia. I don't know what to say either, and it's been 36 years.”

 

“So your dad joined the force, just like that?”

 

“Well, not just like that, exactly. There was an arrest, of course, and a trial. He was convicted, but not on all counts. The detectives at the scene when my brother's body was recovered fucked up. My dad told me later it was a mistake, but I've always wondered if they didn't want to stick it to my dad, just a little bit, since he'd defended so many criminals they were trying to put away. It was before DNA, of course, and some eyewitness testimony got him on the kidnapping. He said he'd taken Kent for money, was gonna call in a ransom demand and return him unharmed, but the guy he'd left him with had raped and killed him while Burke went out to send the ransom note and buy some Frosted Flakes for Kent. He loved that cereal, and that bastard knew it because he'd been at our house, _in our kitchen._ It was reasonable doubt to the jury. He served five years.”

 

“That's...” Olivia trailed off. She had a million questions, and no idea if she should ask any of them. They both still had their feet in the rapidly cooling water, and had finished the bottle of Pinot Gris she'd grabbed from the bar earlier. They were quiet, and Olivia was struck by the fact that this house was a showplace, built for entertaining, but the woman sitting beside her on the deck seemed neither showy nor overly social. The silence between them was companionable, and Olivia had no idea how long they sat that way before Kris spoke again.

 

“What my dad did,” she mused, “that would never be allowed to happen now. They'd make damn sure he didn't pass the psych eval to join the force.”

 

“Dirty Harry syndrome?” Olivia asked.

 

“Not really, I don't think. He was a good cop, no misconduct in his jacket, never fired his gun on duty in 28 years.”

 

“It must have taken remarkable restraint. I'm sure he dealt with more than a few cases that hit too close to home.”

 

Kris nodded. “He worked homicide and sex crimes, the worst of the worst. He was an amazing man.”

 

“Was?” Olivia asked. She did the math quickly in her head. _70\. He'd be about 70._

 

“He killed himself three years ago.” Kris didn't pause, rushed every word, sparing Olivia the need to make inane, useless noises of sympathy. “Ate his service revolver five years after he retired. My mom died of cancer shortly after he turned in his shield, but he seemed to handle it okay. Stayed busy, was in great health, always out and about.”

 

“What happened?” Olivia's voice had a breathless quality that reminded her of ghost stories by a campfire.

 

“He left a note, and a newspaper clipping. It was a 26-word obituary for the man who'd killed my brother. He died of natural causes on May 22, and my dad took a couple of weeks to get his affairs in order, then killed himself on Kent's birthday, June 6. Phoned it in to 911 himself before he pulled the trigger so I wouldn't be the one to find the body.”

 

“What did the note say?” Olivia asked.

 

“He'd been watching Burke for years, ever since he'd been paroled on the kidnapping conviction. The guy had kicked around St. Louis for a while, then finally moved to a little town an hour north of here. Dad had driven there every week on his day off, and sat outside Burke's house for a couple of hours, just letting him know he was being watched. Dad wanted to make sure he'd never get away with hurting another kid. Once Burke died, my dad felt he'd done his penance, I guess. His note said he knew I'd be okay, but he had been hurting too much for too long, and he was ready to face judgment for letting his little boy die. He said he hoped he'd done enough good in his life to be forgiven so that he could see Kent again, but he was prepared for anything except one more day of seeing his son's face in the morgue, every time he closed his eyes.” Tears were welling up as she finished, but she blinked hard and held them back. 

 

Olivia sensed that Kris hadn't told this story to very many people, and she couldn't blame her. Before Olivia could formulate any kind of response, Kris stood and held out a hand to help her guest up from the pool deck.

 

“Olivia, I'm sorry. I've monopolized the conversation and told you more than you could possibly care to know. So much for a lighthearted evening to forget about work, huh?” They were standing beside the table, and Kris busied herself with gathering up the corkscrew, wine glasses and salt and pepper shakers. Olivia touched her on the elbow. Kris stopped moving but didn't look up. 

 

“It's okay,” Olivia said quietly.

 

Mackey looked over her shoulder, making eye contact for a flash of a second, nodded, then headed toward the house, and Liv followed, carrying the wine bottles and her shoes. They made a bit of small talk in the kitchen, and Olivia noticed she'd missed Alex's calls. 

 

“Oh, I'm sorry, Olivia. Can you still call her?”

 

“It's a bit late,” Olivia said as they walked toward the front door. “She left a message, hopefully to say she was headed to bed, so I'll just talk to her tomorrow. Thank you, Kris. For dinner, for your help, for telling me that. Really.”

 

“I should be thanking you. I didn't invite you over here to make you play therapist.”

 

“I don't mind. I know from experience what it takes to put that out there.”

 

“You make it easy,” Kris said. “I can see why you're so good with special victims. This house has been quiet for too long. I enjoyed the company.”

 

There was a heavy pause, but before Olivia could speak, Kris filled the space with a flurry, tapping Olivia lightly on the elbow as she stepped around her to open the front door. 

 

“I've kept you for too long, Olivia.” 

 

“It was a nice evening,” Liv said. “Thanks for getting me out of the hotel.”

 

“Get some sleep, Benson. You'll need it if we're going to start early and get anything done before your flight tomorrow.”

 

“Perfect.” Olivia jumped into her rental car and headed back downtown. Her head was buzzing, and she was unimaginably tired. She listened to the attorney's voicemail as she drove, and could tell that Alex was equally exhausted. This trip had both interesting and productive, but she was more than ready to get home.

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

**-29-**

 

**Thursday, October 10, 2013**

 

**Saint Louis, Missouri**

 

Olivia arrived at the precinct a few minutes after Kris, just about 7 a.m. They were getting an earlier start than usual, trying to get a few hours of work in before Olivia had to leave for the airport. She was flying back at noon, stopping by the precinct, and then taking Friday off to study for the sergeant's exam. She still had a week—it wasn't until the 19th—but she had done precious little in the way of preparing for it. Originally, when she'd signed up, it was kind of a lark, really. Everything was in transition, so it was a _what the hell, see what happens_ exercise in her mind. But so much had happened in the interim, and she really wanted to pass this damn thing now. It was time to look at all of her options, even the ones that she'd have once rejected out of hand.

 

The station was buzzing with activity by 8:30, and she retreated with Mackey to an empty interview room for one last brainstorming session. Just before nine o'clock, Mackey's captain stuck his head in and spoke to them. “You two should come out here.”

 

They walked out into the squadroom, and found everyone watching one of the flat-screen TVs on the wall. One was always tuned to Headline News, and the other to the local NBC station's news channel, where they recycled the most recent newscast every half-hour unless there was a breaking story to report. It was the local station that held the room's attention now, and it appeared to be a press conference of some sort. 

 

“What's going on?” Olivia asked Kris. 

 

“Well, that's the mayor on the left, and the Chief of Police and chief of D's on the right.”

 

“Who's the guy in the middle?” The men on either side were arrayed in the uniforms of their office: a suit for the mayor, and dress uniforms for the brass. But the man speaking was young—late 20s, she'd guess—and wearing jeans and sneakers, his only concession to formality a blue blazer thrown over his Lumineers t-shirt. He had on a Cardinals baseball cap, but that didn't differentiate him from 90% of the men in this town, Olivia observed. 

 

“That's Chael Bauer,” Kris answered. She offered no further explanation. 

 

“Help me out,” Olivia said. 

 

“Really?” Kris asked, turning to face her. “He's the founder of Squawk, and PayGo. He's from St. Louis, dad used to be on the force here in the city. He lives in New York, or at least gets his picture taken at parties there. Thought you might have seen his face before.”

 

“I've heard the name,” Olivia said. “Just had no idea what he looked like.”

 

They listened to his remarks, and knew why they'd been called out to watch. He had created two wildly popular websites, and a couple of well-timed IPOs had made him unimaginable millions. He had been visiting his father, and had heard about the cases that were puzzling the Major Case Squad in the bi-state area. His dad had poked around, it seems, and found that there was no suspect tied to these, or to a string of similar murders in New York. Chael (short for Michael, Kris informed her, a name apparently too pedestrian for Silicon Valley) was offering the city the services of two of his developers, free of charge. The two would take the existing tools available to police investigators—ViCAP, AFIS, and a couple of experimental programs and smaller databases—and write a program that would do it all, and do it more efficiently. “And more successfully, we hope,” he added with a bit of a chuckle, though he quickly regained the mask of seriousness he had worn throughout the news conference. 

 

When he finished talking, the mayor stepped up to the mic, but reporters were shouting out questions to Bauer: when did he expect to have a finished product, what agencies and departments would he give it to, and so on. He ignored them all as the mayor tried to speak, but one man's voice rose above the others. 

 

“Chael, what motivated you to do this?”

 

Bauer looked apologetically at the mayor, who gestured for him to answer. 

 

“My father was a cop here in the city, as most of you know. And St. Louis is dear to my heart. I know how hard the police here work, and they deserve all the help they can get. I don't know if we'll get lucky,” he laughed. “After all, this is not the kind of work my folks normally do. But sometimes, applying a new approach and some new methodology and get new results. And as the fine men and women of our area's police departments risk their lives for us every day, I think we can all agree that anything that will make their jobs safer or easier is certainly worth the expense.”

* * *

**New York City**

**9:54 a.m. EDT**

 

Cragen's phone rang, but he was in the middle of a discussion with Munch and Fin, and he gestured to a uni walking by to duck in and grab the call.

 

A moment later, the young officer stuck his head out. “Captain...” he began.

 

“Can it wait, Randall? We're nearly done.”

 

“I don't think so, sir. It's the DA.”

 

Cragen walked into his office and took the phone from Randall. Munch and Cragen had one eye on the boss. It wasn't every day the DA had any reason to call over here. One of his bureau chiefs called pretty regularly, of course, but that was personal.

 

“Cragen,” Don said into the receiver.

 

“Don, it's Colin Samuels. We have a problem. I need you to get Benson in your office. If she's out, call her back from wherever she is, right now.”

 

“Benson's in St. Louis,” Don said. “What the hell's going on, Colin?”

 

“Shit,” he answered. “There's news cameras all over the place over here. CNN is raising the satellite on their truck now. You have to call her before she sees this on TV. 

 

Cragen paled as he listened, taking notes, eager to get Samuels off the line so he could call Olivia. He hoped she wasn't near a TV.

* * *

**Saint Louis**

**9:05 a.m. CDT**

 

As the press conference ended, the room was full of chatter about what they'd seen. Olivia turned around, and looked at Mackey and her boss, Captain Cramer. “I don't know this guy,” she said. “I have no idea what any of that meant, or if I should even care. What's your impression?”

 

Mackey rolled her eyes, and Cramer spoke. “I think,” he said, “that it doesn't matter one damn bit what I think. The guy is practically a billionaire who donates a lot of money to the hospitals around here, and who funded about half of the mayor's re-election campaign. Maybe something good will come of it, but it's not going to stop us from doing what we do. I still think it's going to be regular, old-fashioned police work that will catch this guy.”

 

“And on that note, Olivia, shall we get back to the grind?” Kris clearly shared her boss's skepticism. As they turned to head back to the interview room, Olivia's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Cragen's number on the caller ID, but before she could answer it, she heard her name from across the room. 

 

“Detective Benson,” someone shouted. “I think you need to see this.”

 

“What's going on?” she asked, as she headed toward the voice. She noticed the man was pointing at the TV with the national feed. 

 

“Someone's shooting up one of your courthouses,” he said. “Not sure which one, but it looks like...”

 

He kept talking, but she didn't hear a word he said. Her phone was buzzing in her hand, again. She'd let it go to voicemail once, distracted by the other detective, and Cragen was calling again. She knew it was the courthouse where Alex was trying her case, knew that she was there, this morning, _now_ , had talked to her by phone as Alex walked in the building earlier in the morning. What in hell was going on?

 

The phone stopped buzzing in her hand, just for a few seconds, and then started again. She finally answered. “Benson.” She was on autopilot.

 

“Olivia, it's Don,” he said. “Where are you?”

 

“Standing in the precinct in St. Louis,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the TV, looking for a head of blonde hair. The live feed was coming from a chopper, and it looked like mass confusion below, and she had no idea what Alex had worn that morning. She hadn't seen her yet. _Is that good, or bad_?She didn't know. 

 

“I need to tell you something,” Don said. 

 

“I'm watching Headline News, Captain. What's going on there?” Her voice was oddly distant. 

 

“Shit,” he muttered. He spoke a little louder, and he'd managed to attract the attention of the detectives in the 1-6, who were clustered around his office door, but he knew he didn't have Olivia's full attention yet. “Liv, you need to listen to me. Sit down. It's not good.”


	30. Chapter 30

**-30-**

 

Olivia felt fear closing around her like a vise. She was standing in a room full of people, watching her life fall apart on TV while the Captain was telling her to sit down and pay attention. She was trying hard to hold it together, but her last fucking nerve was shot. “I'm fine, Captain. I don't need to sit down,” she shouted. “I just need to know what the hell is going on.”

 

“Alex wasn't shot, Olivia. She's at the hospital, but she wasn't shot. She's going to be okay. It wasn't her.”

 

“Good,” Olivia said numbly. “It wasn't her, that's good. What happened to her?”

 

“She may have some broken ribs,” he said. “There was a lot of jostling in the crowd when the shots were fired, and she was knocked to the ground.” That much was true, or half-true, anyway.

 

“Broken ribs, that's not the end of the world,” she said. “You said it wasn't her. Who was shot?”

 

He was quiet for a second, debated telling her, but if she was standing in front of a television she'd find out soon enough. She needed to hear it from him.  
  


“Jack Hammond,” he said.

 

“What do you mean, _Jack Hammond_?” she asked. “That's ridiculous. There must be a mistake.”

 

“There's no mistake, Liv. It was Hammond. He was with Alex. They were outside at the courthouse.”

 

“Alex should have been in the courtroom,” Olivia said. “This makes no sense.”

 

“Samuels called me. Her trial had been delayed. The defendant, Rand Gordon, became ill in the courtroom just before 9, and the judge was reached in chambers and postponed until 10 while medics checked Gordon out to see if they could proceed. She stepped out, and I guess she was meeting Hammond for some reason. He hadn't been in the courtroom during the trial, so it might have been about something else.”

 

“It wasn't,” Olivia shouted. All eyes in the St. Louis squadroom were on her. “It wasn't about something else, and it wasn't a chance meeting. He pulled her into this, and I don't even know how far they're reaching on these cases. She's been acting strangely, and hardly sleeping at all. That son of a bitch set her up, and he didn't give a shit what happened to her. When I see him, I just might kill him.”

 

“Olivia...” Cragen began.

 

“Don't make excuses for him, please. I've heard enough of that to last me a lifetime. He didn't care if he got her killed. I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't hear it.”

 

“Olivia, he's dead.”

 

“What?”

 

“Jack Hammond is dead, Liv. He took three shots. They scooped him up and ran but he was DOA. There's more to the story, but I can't tell you now. You need to get home. I'll be there to pick you up, and we'll go straight to the hospital. They're gonna keep Alex overnight, at least. Is there anyone here I can call to go stay with her until you arrive?”

 

“No,” Olivia replied. “I'm walking out the door to the airport now. I'll call her best friend and her uncle myself. My flight is...”

 

“I've got your flight information, Benson. Just get your ass home.”

* * *

Olivia hung up the call and turned toward Mackey's desk to grab her things, but found Kris standing in front of her ready to go.

 

“Fuck the rental car,” Kris said. “Give me the keys. I'll drive you to the airport in a squad car, and get one of these guys to follow me and turn in the rental. We've already moved your suitcase.”

 

“Thank you, Kris,” Olivia said. She didn't trust her voice to say anything more. They walked out of the precinct and as soon as their seatbelts clicked, Mackey hit the gas hard and flipped on the lights and sirens.

 

En route, Olivia made two calls. The first was to Kate—she started with “Alex is okay,” and added as little as possible afterward. She just needed someone at the hospital, with Alex, until she could get there. Her goddamn flight went through Chicago and it would be late afternoon before she was on the ground at home.

 

She called Uncle Bill next, and told him what was going on, or at least what little she knew. He wanted to head to the city immediately, but agreed to sit tight. Kate was with Alex, or would be in the next 10 minutes, and Olivia would be there by evening. She would update him then.

 

Kris was fielding calls as they drove, too, but Olivia didn't know what they were about because Samuels called to update her on Alex's condition. Three broken ribs, and a broken left wrist that would require surgery to insert pins. Alex couldn't talk on the phone because they'd given her pain meds, but she was awake when she arrived at the hospital, and had given consent for the operation, which shouldn't take more than an hour. She didn't know yet that Hammond hadn't survived. “They're waiting to tell her until you arrive, Benson,” Samuels said.

 

By the time Olivia finished speaking with him, they were at the airport, but Kris seemed to be taking a back road behind the airport. “Where are we headed?”

 

“Change of plans,” Kris said. “The Chief of D's spoke with our Captain after Bauer's press conference, and found out what happened. He was still with Bauer, who's heading back to New York now on his charter plane. He offered to take you with him. I hope you don't mind that I accepted on your behalf. It'll get you there three hours sooner.”

 

“Thank you,” Olivia said. There was nothing else to say. Three hours that she could be holding Alex instead of sitting on a plane, or in a terminal, was the best news she could hope for at this point. 


	31. Chapter 31

**-31-**

 

**Thursday, October 10, 2013**

 

**New York City**

 

They had been wheels-up out of St. Louis by 10 am local time, and arrived at LaGuardia on Bauer's G4 just a little over three hours later, landing at 2:05 Eastern. Bauer had been incredibly gracious, making sure Olivia was comfortable but allowing her privacy. He didn't speak to her much until the end of the flight, when he sat down opposite her and buckled in for landing.

 

“I have a helicopter waiting to take you to the hospital,” he said.

 

“My captain said he'd...” Olivia began.

 

“I took the liberty of letting him know I'd arrange transportation. I didn't want to trouble you by asking, but I felt fairly certain you'd be happier knowing he was there at the hospital with your partner until you arrive,” he said. “I'll ride along with you in the chopper, just in case you need anything.”

 

“I don't know how to thank you,” she said.

 

“You don't need to,” Bauer said. He was quiet for a moment, then turned back to face her across the aisle. “She's going to be okay, you know.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

* * *

Olivia walked into the hospital at three o'clock, and was greeted by Cragen, and Fin.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Out of surgery, and she'll be fine, Liv,” Cragen said. “She's going to be in some pain, more from the ribs than anything else, but she's not in any danger. She's not awake yet, but her friend Kate is in there with her. You can go on in anytime.”

 

“I will, in just a second,” Olivia said. “I know I should be glad that she just has broken bones, since Hammond was apparently trying to get her killed, but I don't understand. What in the hell happened?”

 

“Hammond wasn't trying to get her killed, baby,” Fin said. “He saved her life.”

 

“How do you know that?” she asked.

 

“Amanda was down there. She was supposed to testify in another case and she was standin' outside drinkin' coffee when it went down. Hammond and Alex were talking, and Amanda happened to notice Alex. Said there was another guy standing nearby, back to 'em, looked like he was on a detail. A car came up the street from behind Rollins, tires squealing, and she saw a shooter in the window. Amanda pulled her piece at the same time the bodyguard pulled his. Hammond stepped in front of Alex, and pushed her hard to the ground, with his body between her and the gun. She broke her fall with her wrist, I guess. Hammond was shot as he covered her, and she must have broken her ribs when she landed on her briefcase. She'd be dead if he hadn't been with her, Liv.”

 

“Where is Amanda?” Olivia was looking around, and Fin knew why. She wanted to hear it first-hand, didn't believe it could have gone down that way. Hammond was the villain in Benson's version of any story, and she couldn't picture him as a hero no matter how hard she tried.

 

“Rollins is giving a statement,” Cragen said. She exchanged gunfire with the shooter, as did the agent on protective detail. At least one of them got off a good shot or two. The driver of the car was killed, and the trigger-man is in surgery, critical condition.'  
  


“Is Amanda okay?”

 

Fin answered this time. “Amanda's always okay, baby, you know that. Now get your ass in there to see Alex before she wakes up and starts bitching.”

* * *

Olivia walked into Alex's room, and straight into Kate's arms. Kate was crying, and while Liv had a good idea that she never would be shedding those tears if Alex were awake to see her, realizing how emotional Kate was told her how serious the whole thing had been.

 

“Thank you for rushing over here, Kate. I couldn't stand the thought of her waking up alone.”

 

“I'd do anything for her, Olivia, and for you. You know that.”

 

“I do. We're very lucky.”

 

“Well, you are.” Kate laughed a bit. “When _she_ gets well, I'm going to kick her scrawny ass from her to next Wednesday. I'm going to go now. Call me when she wakes up.”

 

“No, Kate, stay. She'll want to see you.”

 

“Bullshit, Benny.” Kate was already using the nickname Bill had bestowed on her. “She'll only have eyes for you, and that's exactly as it should be. I've had enough crying for one day, anyway. You two girls are going to be all weepy and I can't handle it. I'll come back tomorrow, or when she gets home.”

 

Olivia sat down heavily in the bedside chair. Seeing Alex with a cast and bandages on, and a nasty scrape on her beautiful chin, Liv was cognizant for the first time how close she had come to losing

Alex, for good this time. She never ceased to be amazed how relaxed and content the ADA could look when she was sleeping. When she was awake, she never stopped thinking , or moving, or planning. It was hard to reconcile this sleeping angel with the stubborn, hard-ass prosecutor who managed to get herself shot at, threatened or assaulted on a frighteningly regular basis.

 

There wasn't long to think. Alex woke up woozy and shivering 15 minutes later, slowly emerging from the anesthesia.

 

“Liv,” she croaked, squinting a bit in surprise to see her fiancee there.

 

“Right here, baby.”

 

“You're in St. Louis,” Alex said.

 

“Well, something came up.”

 

“What?” Alex said, then winced as pain shot through her side. “Oh, me.”

 

“Yeah, you,” Olivia smiled, standing beside the bed and holding Alex's good hand while she brushed blonde hair back with the other.

 

“How's Jack?” Alex asked.

 

Olivia's heart sank. She'd forgotten that she had to break the news, but it wasn't necessary. Alex read it all on her face and began to cry. “He didn't make it.”

 

“No, baby, he didn't.” Olivia leaned over and held her gently, trying not to jostle ribs or wrist or IV pole, and they cried together for a few minutes.

 

“I'm so sorry, Alex. I know how much you'd grown to respect him.”

 

“He was a good man, Olivia. I know you never got to see that side of him, but he was amazing.”

 

Olivia was quiet for a minute, thinking back on all of her encounters with Hammond, and pulling out the one she'd most like to remember now.

 

“I did know,” she said quietly. “He saved my life, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

 

“When you were back home for the Connors trial, and I spent that first night with you at the hotel,” she began, “things didn't go so well between us. I couldn't face you the second night, so I made Elliot take the overnight watch.”

 

“I remember that,” Alex said. “I was incredibly upset. But then you showed up, and I couldn't have been any happier.”

 

“Hammond is the reason I came back,” Liv said.

 

“Jack? How?”

 

“He came by the precinct after he left you and Elliot at the hotel. Found me working and sat down in Stabler's chair to read me the riot act. Told me in no uncertain terms that I should pull my head out of my ass and get over there to the hotel. It might be my only chance to be with you, and you'd risked everything, and given up what little you had, to come back and see me. I couldn't believe it.”

 

“It was true,” Alex said. “I had to know you were okay, just breathe your air, even if it would have only been an hour.”

 

“He gave me the kick in the ass I needed to go over there and face you that night, Al. I wouldn't have done it on my own. And that was one of the best nights of my life. I've never regretted it, even though it tore me apart when you left again.”

 

“If you hadn't come back to that hotel, Liv, I don't know what would have happened,” Alex confessed. “That one night, knowing there was _something_ there, it kept me going in Baltimore, and it is probably the only reason I came back to New York. If I didn't have that memory to build my hopes on, I think I would have just stayed _gone_. I'd still be Sarah Clarke, even now. Without you to come home to, _Alex_ didn't even need to exist.”

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Olivia said. “And that's how he saved my life. If I hadn't spent that night with you, I think I'd have lost all hope. Once you lose hope, you might as well be dead.”

 

“Three times,” Alex said quietly.

 

“Three times what?” Liv was puzzled.

 

“That's how many times he saved _us_. Three times, he gave us back to one another. If it weren't for him, I don't know where we'd be, but I know we wouldn'tbe _here_.”

 

They were both crying again, and Olivia leaned over and kissed Alex, as gently as she could, then wiped the tears off of her cheeks.

 

“He's not here to save us anymore, Liv,” Alex said sadly.

 

Olivia's smile was tired and careworn, but genuine. “It's okay, Al, I don't think we need any more saving,” she said. “Third time's the charm, right?”

 


	32. Chapter 32

**-32-**

 

Olivia had already planned to take a week off—they were moving to the new place mid-week, and she hoped to study for her exam as she supervised the transfer of furniture and household goods. Now that she was caring for Alex, too, Cragen had insisted she take a couple of extra days. Lord knows she had it coming. 

 

Alex was hurting, both physically and emotionally. She didn't like owing up to any pain, so Liv knew her suffering must be significant if she was willing to let it show. She winced and even cried if she moved too much, or too quickly, and the pain meds were the only thing letting her sleep. After a few days, it was easing up, but the doctors had told her it would be a long recovery. The wrist wasn't a big problem, but ribs were always slow to heal. 

 

Uncle Bill came down to visit the first weekend, and Liv watched the two of them carefully, Judge Harriman and ADA Cabot, both looking weak and drawn, their faces lined with grief, and exhaustion, and relief. The cases Alex had been working on with Hammond were in limbo, so there was still a protective detail on the building, and on Alex when she left the house. None of them was feeling very social, though, so they cocooned in the building.

 

By the time came for the moving men to show up, Bill was back in Connecticut and Alex was feeling a little better, but Olivia decided she didn't need her around that day. She'd be underfoot and overdoing it, so Liv called Kate, who was more than happy to play nursemaid for a day or two. 

 

Alex protested, of course. “Let me help, Olivia. I won't actually move anything, but I can certainly direct traffic.”

 

“I know you can, honey, but you don't need to. We're just moving up 9 floors—I think I can supervise a few moving men for an afternoon when there's not even a truck involved. And Kate wants to see you, anyway. You'll go to her place on Wednesday morning, spend the night, and when you come home Thursday, everything will be all set. I promise not to put any nails in the walls until you're home to call the shots, okay?”

 

“I hate for you to do all that work by yourself,” Alex tried again.

 

“I'm not going to be,” Liv smiled. “I'll have help. I convinced the guys to meet me at our new place for my bachelorette party. They don't know they'll be unpacking boxes and helping me figure out where to put the furniture.”

 

“You're a modern-day Tom Sawyer,” Alex joked, but her face clouded over. Liv sat down beside her and held her close.

 

“Sweetheart, I know that your bachelorette dinner won't be everything you'd hoped now that Jean is gone, but I think Kate's planned something for that evening, if you're up to it. Try to humor her, okay?”

 

“I will,” Alex promised. “But I'd rather be here with you.” There was no rush to get back, really. Some of the jurors had been on the courthouse steps when Hammond was shot, and Alex was injured, so the judge had declared a mistrial. They wouldn't seat a new jury for a few weeks. Ellen had been by a couple of times to raise Alex's spirits with office gossip, but Liv wasn't sure it had done any good. This kind of talk wasn't like Alex, and it didn't sound like idle sweet talk, either.

 

“I understand,” Olivia reassured her. “I'd always rather have you with me. I fool myself into thinking I might manage to keep an eye on you, but I know you'll be itching to get back to the office before too long.” 

 

“Maybe not,” Alex said. “Normally, it would be killing me that work is going on without me, but I'm not sure I miss it. At all.”

 

Olivia put a hand on Alex's forehead. “Well, you're not feverish,” she joked. “Must be the meds talking.”

 

“No, I'm serious, Liv. Maybe it's time for a change.”

 

“Like what, honey?” 

 

“I don't know,” Alex said. “Private practice. Teaching. Something that doesn't cause me to go crazy, or keep secrets, or get shot at.”

 

“Well, that's a natural reaction,” Olivia said. “But I don't know that you're in the best position to make a decision like that now. Maybe you should sit with this a while, re-try the case, and take some time off.”

 

Alex looked surprised, but didn't say anything.

 

“I know,” Olivia said. “You thought that once I knew what you were involved in, I'd be begging you to step down.”

 

“Not begging,” Alex said. “Demanding, was what I expected.”

 

“Well, that explains the secrecy, then. You really think I'd demand that you give up something you love?”

 

“You'd have every right to, Liv. I tell you I want a life with you, but then I do everything on my own. It isn't fair to you.”

 

“You're right, it isn't,” Olivia agreed. “But I don't want to control you. I want _you_ , Alex, not some version of you that I think meets my needs at any given moment. You're tough and strong, and I love that about you. I don't want to change you, baby. I just want to be involved, you know? Next time, you have to tell me what's really going on.”

 

“I know,” Alex said. “But there won't be a next time. I can't keep doing this. Remember when I told you, _when everything changes, change everything_? Well, everything is changing. We're getting married, and moving into our new home. You're taking that exam. Aunt Jean is gone, and I hope I can get Bill to move back to New York so we can spend more time with him. I think I need to change, too. I'm going to resign, Liv.”

 

Olivia was shocked. Alex had been through burnout before, even leaving to go to Africa for a change of pace, but this sounded more like a reaction to fear, rather than a considered decision, and she had to make sure it wasn't something the attorney would regret later. She couldn't believe she was about to do this, but it was all she could think of. Olivia stood and walked across the room, turning back to face Alex, seated on the couch. 

 

“So Jack Hammond died for nothing?” Her voice was steady, and Alex's eyes immediately flashed with anger. 

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Olivia?”

 

“You're just giving up? He thought you were the only person who could do this job, and you're just gonna walk away?”

 

“I thought you'd be happy, Liv. I don't know what you want from me,” Alex shouted. 

 

“I want what you want, Alex.” Olivia was shouting, too. “But I don't think this is it. Baby, I don't want you to run. Alex Cabot doesn't back down.”

 

Alex was crying. “I don't know what I want anymore. I'm just so tired, Liv. I'm so sick of putting one foot in front of the other, and picking up the pieces over and over again. People give up all the time. Can't I give up, just this one time?”

 

Olivia returned to the couch and gathered the sobbing blonde up in her arms. “Alex, you've absorbed a lot of body blows in a short period of time. I know you're scared, and angry, and confused and just wiped out. It's okay to admit that, baby. This is your retreat, and I am your shelter. I won't tell you what to do, and I'll support you in anything you decide, but at the end of the day, you have to figure out what's right for you. Just promise me you'll take your time, okay?”

 

Alex nodded.

 

“Okay?” Olivia asked again.

 

“I promise,” Alex whispered into her ear. “Thank you, Liv, for knowing me better than I know myself.”


	33. Chapter 33

**-33-**

 

**Wednesday, October 16, 2013**

 

In spite of her protests, lobbied vociferously until the last possible minute, Alex spent her day resting, with a solicitous Kate hovering over her even more than the security detail stationed discreetly outside the building.

 

“I hate that Olivia asked you to stay home and take care of me,” she complained. “I'm perfectly fine, and I should be at the apartment helping Olivia with the move.”

 

“First off, Cab, you're kind of the opposite of _perfectly fine,_ and second, Olivia didn't ask me anything, if you must know. I asked her.”

 

It was late afternoon, and despite insisting she was feeling great, Alex had dozed off and on all day while Kate worked. Now they were sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee before dinner.

 

“You asked her? I don't understand.”

 

“I haven't seen you since you were lying sedated in a hospital bed, Alex. I needed to see you, and to verify with my own two eyes that you're really okay. Is that alright with you?”

 

“Of course,” Alex said quietly. “I never thanked you for coming to be with me that day.”

 

“You don't have to. You're my best friend. I don't take that lightly.”

 

“I don't either,” Alex said.

 

“Actually, I think you do,” Kate said. “You shut me out of your life when things are tough, and you avoid me when you know I'm going to tell you something that you need to hear. And I don't like it.”

 

These were tough words, and Kate was delivering them in a remarkably gentle fashion. “I'm sorry, Kate,” Alex offered. “I've been having the same discussion with Olivia, though I'm sure that won't surprise you.”

 

“I don't need you to be sorry,” Kate said. “I need you to be Alex again.”

 

“I'm not sure anyone really needs that.”

 

“Knock it off with the pity party, Cab. I need it, your uncle needs it, and Olivia needs it. We need you, and you've got everything you ever wanted, right in the palm of your hands. Don't let it slip away. You've come back from the dead, Alex, but even a cat only has nine lives. Think very hard about what matters, and do what you have to do.” Kate stood up and took Alex's coffee cup, and her own, to the kitchen sink before walking back to the table. “But do your thinking later, because right now, I need you to get ready for the single most boring bachelorette party ever.”

 

She and Kate had a lovely dinner, and saw a show. It was low-key and exactly what Alex needed. That night, after she was in bed, Kate knocked on the doorframe and came into the guestroom.

 

She sat down on the edge of the bed, and reached over to brush Alex's hair back behind her ear.

 

“Alex, I hope you know I'm hard on you because I love you,” she said.

 

“I do, Kate. And I love you.”

 

“I'm tucking you in because your aunt would have wanted me to,” she said. “I'm kicking your ass because you need it.”

 

“Always,” Alex smiled. “Thank you, Kate. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

 

“I do,” Kate said. “You'd be an even bigger fucked-up mess than you already are. But don't worry. I'm not going to let that happen. You're stuck with me, Cab.”

 

“I like being stuck with you,” Alex said. “I don't deserve you, but I do appreciate you.”

 

Kate stood, and then leaned over and kissed Alex on the forehead.

 

“If you ever, ever tell anyone I was nice to you, I'll kill you,” she said, as she walked to the door, and turned back to face Alex. “And you know it's hard for me to admit, but you are right about at least one thing.”

 

“What's that?” Alex asked.

 

“You don't deserve me. I guess you're just my cross to bear.”

 

Kate left. Alex turned out the light and settled under the covers, but she lay awake thinking long and hard about everything both Olivia and Kate had said. She woke up tired, but feeling better than she had in quite a while. She knew what she had to do, and certainty had a very bracing effect on her.  


	34. Chapter 34

**-34-**

 

**Saturday, October 19, 2013**

 

The sergeant's exam was long and exhausting. Olivia finished shortly after 2 pm, and she was by no means the last one. The room was still half-full when she left and headed home. She had no idea how she'd done, really. It didn't seem as bad as expected, and Munch had reassured her that she would be fine, but a few other cops she knew didn't seem as confident in her abilities.

 

She walked into the apartment to a beautiful scene. The autumn sun gave the place a warm glow in the afternoon, and there was music playing. The dining room table held a huge square vase full of five dozen orange carnations and a bottle of champagne on ice. Alex was just coming out of the kitchen with two crystal flutes in her right hand.

 

“Perfect timing, sweetheart,” she smiled. “How did it go?” She walked over to Olivia and wrapped her arms around the detective's shoulders, still favoring the left wrist with its soft cast. Olivia heard the stemware clink behind her head as Alex leaned in for a kiss.

 

“What's all of this, babe?”

 

“Well, it's sort of congratulations. The carnations symbolize pride, according to the guy at the florist. He talked me into it, or you'd have surely gotten something a little prettier,” she laughed.

 

“I love them,” Olivia said quietly.

 

“They do make an impact,” Alex said, nodding at the huge arrangement.

 

“Thank you. But I won't get the results for weeks. Are you trying to jinx me, Ms. Cabot?”

 

“No,” Alex said. She handed the bottle of champagne to Olivia to open, and then poured two glasses and handed one over. “I'm proud of you every day, whether you pass that exam, or fail it, or never even want to take it.” She clinked her glass to Liv's, and they each took a drink.

 

“You're sweet,” Olivia said. “What _are_ we celebrating?”

 

“Happy endings,” Alex said. “I've been so foolish, Liv. I've let things go that are more important to me than any of the insanity that I was so worried about. That stops now. You've been very patient, and I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.”

 

“You always find your way back,” Olivia said. “This is home, and the light is always on for you.”

 

Alex took both glasses and set them on the table, then kissed Olivia, a slow, soft kiss that felt like more of a connection than they'd had in quite some time. “There's something I've been meaning to take care of,” the blonde said.

 

Suddenly she was kneeling on the floor and had a ring in her hand. “Olivia Benson, will you marry me?” she asked. “I love you, and nothing means anything without you.”

 

“Of course, baby,” Olivia said, and rather than risking any pain to Alex's healing wrist by pulling her up, she knelt down so that they were face to face. “Of course I'll marry you.”

 

Alex slid the ring on to Liv's finger. It was stunning, with channel-set diamonds encircling a platinum band. “I promised you a ring, and I hope it's better late than never.”

 

“It's perfect,” Olivia said, staring at it. The diamonds sparkled even more through a prism of tears. “I'll meet you at Astra four weeks from today. I'll be the one down front who can't take her eyes off of you.”

 

“Next Saturday,” Alex said. “I don't want to wait any longer.”

 

“The restaurant could reschedule us?” Olivia asked. “I mean, again?”

 

“Not exactly,” Alex said. “We're locked in to that date. But I think we should just have a reception that day. Let's get married next week, baby. Please?”

 

“Of course. But where, sweetie? It's such short notice.”

 

“Petrovsky's courtroom.” Alex's reply was so immediate that Olivia laughed out loud.

 

“The scene of so many comeuppances, Ms. Cabot?”

 

“I've already talked to her about it, Liv. It's a Saturday, she said she'd love to. And she did mention that, if we keep the ceremony relatively short, I could probably get through it without any contempt charges,” Alex joked. “Besides, Barry Moredock is out of town.”

 

“It meant a lot to you to have him perform the ceremony, sweetheart. I feel like we're getting further and further from your ideal wedding. You really want to do this, Alex?” Olivia asked.

 

The answer was quick and sure. “This is what I want, Liv. I've called Uncle Bill, and Kate. They're both free. If Elliot can make it, we're all set.”

 

“We're all set either way, honey. I'll call Elliot, but we're doing this with or without him.”

 

“You'll both be disappointed if he can't make it,” Alex said.

 

“A little, yeah,” Olivia agreed. “But if he finds out I passed up one more chance to close this deal with you, he'll kill me, so a little disappointment is a small price to pay.”

 

“ _Close this deal?”_ Alex feigned incredulity. She stood and walked off, leaving Olivia there kneeling on the floor.

 

“Hey, where are you going?” Olivia called after her.

 

“I'm going to the bedroom. If you want to close _any_ deals with me, you'd better be up here in the next two minutes,” she called back over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs.

 

Olivia was scrambling to join her. “But your wrist,” she teased. “Thought you weren't supposed to be doing any heavy lifting.”

 

Alex stopped at the top of the steps and turned around. When Olivia reached the step below, she gave her a slow, lingering kiss, and leaned close to her ear. “Oh, Detective Benson, I'm not planning to do any lifting at all,” she said in a provocative whisper. “You'll be doing _all_ the work. Do I make myself clear?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Words on Feeling Safe**

_by George Elliot_

  
  


Oh the comfort of feeling safe

with a person;

having neither to weigh thoughts,

nor measure words,

but to pour them all out

just as chaff and grain together,

knowing that a faithful hand

will take and sift them,

keeping what is worth keeping

and with a breath of kindness,

blow the rest away.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**-35-**

 

**Saturday, October 26, 2013**

 

Alex was awake even earlier than normal. By 5:35, she was wide awake and pacing the floor of Kate's guest bedroom, practicing for the most important closing argument she'd ever make. They weren't due in Petrovsky's courtroom until 11 am, but nerves were making sure she wouldn't get another minute of sleep. She was glad they weren't having their reception today, after all. They'd be surrounded by about a dozen people when they exchanged the vows they'd written, and then they'd go out for a wonderful brunch, and head home. They were taking a honeymoon in a few weeks, after the party, and Liv had offered to spend their wedding night out of town, or in a hotel somewhere in the city, but Alex had declined.

 

“I want to spend our wedding night in our new house, in our bed,” she'd told her. But the night before, they had decided to spend apart. Kate thought they were being silly, and told Alex as much when she wandered into the guest room at 8 with two mugs of coffee.

 

“Up early, Cab?”

 

“Not too early,” Alex lied. “Why do you ask?”  


“Just wondered how much pacing you'd been doing to wear that path in my rug,” Kate said. Alex stopped walking and looked behind her at the floor, and Kate laughed, earning her a look that caused most defense attorneys to cower. Kate wasn't most defense attorneys, of course. 

 

“I don't know why you two spent the night apart if she's picking you up to drive to the wedding,” Kate said. “Thought you weren't supposed to see each other until we got to the courthouse.”

 

“It wasn't about a superstition,” Alex explained. “It was one last night to...”

 

“Back out?” Kate joked.

 

“No, Kate, damn it. Can you be serious for one minute? When you marry Marina, you may wish you'd paid a little more attention.” She couldn't resist the jab. The thing with Marina was getting pretty serious—or what passed for serious with Kate, anyway.

 

“Never happen,” Kate snapped. “I'm the untamed heart. But fine, share your wisdom with me, oh guru of love.”

 

Alex picked up a throw pillow from the armchair and heaved it at Kate, reclining now on the foot of the bed. “Listen, it's taken us a long time to get here. I wanted a bright-line to divide my life, before and after.”

 

“Oh, God, a _bright-line_ , huh? You're damn lucky Benson eats up that legal bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Cab. If that's your idea of romance, I feel sorry for that poor detective.”

 

Now Alex laughed, too. “No need to feel sorry for her, Kate. She's got me wrapped around her little finger.”

 

“I don't know about that,” Kate said. “But I do know that if I don't have you ready by 10:30, she's going to have her hands wrapped around my neck. Be in the kitchen in 10 minutes. I've got to feed you something and then you can get ready.”

  
  


 

They arrived before anyone else, and went to visit with Judge Petrovsky. She greeted them both with a brilliant smile and a warm embrace. It wasn't something Alex had ever experienced before in her chambers; any time she'd been summoned here before, it hadn't been a happy occasion.

 

“You both look beautiful,” she said. They had opted for simple dresses, Olivia in a silver A-line and Alex in a sapphire blue sheath. The dresses they'd initially chosen were a bit more formal than they wanted for a courthouse wedding, so they were saving those for the party, keeping them secret even from one another. 

 

“Thank you,” Alex said. “She does look fantastic, doesn't she? I'm a very lucky woman.” She smiled at Olivia and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She was as happy as she'd ever been, and her joy was contagious.

 

“You're both very lucky,” Lena Petrovsky told them. “I didn't think this day would ever come, but I'm pleased to see you defying the odds yet again, Alexandra.”

 

“Miracles happen when she's around,” Olivia said quietly.

 

“Indeed,” the judge said. “So, you've written your own vows, I know. I'll just do the basic legal part. Will you have attendants?”

 

“We will,” Alex told her. “Elliot Stabler will be standing up with Olivia, and my best friend, Kate Merritt, will be with me. Other than that, it will be a small group, and nothing formal. But you will be joining us for the reception in a few weeks, won't you?”

 

“You can't keep me away,” Petrovsky said. “As honored as I am that you asked me to perform your wedding ceremony, the party is my real motivation. Your captain invited me to be his date, Olivia, and it sounds like a wonderful evening.”  


 _Cragen needs to get out a bit,_ Olivia thought. She smiled, just glad he was taking Petrovsky and not Donnelly. Her grin must have been mischievous, because Alex gave her a curious look. 

 

Lena excused herself. “Let me see if your guests have arrived,” she said. “Who am I looking for?”

 

“My uncle Bill, the Stablers, Detectives Rollins, Tutuola, Munch and Amaro, Captain Cragen,” Alex listed. “Who else, Liv?”

 

“Kate and her parents, Ellen, Judge Donnelly, and Melinda Warner,” Olivia supplied. “I think that's it.”  


“Everyone who matters, then. I'll head out and if everyone is in place, I'll come back and get you.”

 

They were left alone for a moment, and Olivia turned to Alex.

 

“Last chance, Alex. I don't want you to rush into anything?”  


“I've had about 14 years to think this over now, Liv. I think I'm good.” Olivia leaned over for a kiss, but was rebuffed. “Hold on, now. You're this close to making it official. I think you can wait a few more minutes for all of that.”

 

Olivia laughed, and Petrovsky stuck her head back in. 

 

“Counselor, Detective...everyone is present and accounted for. Shall we?”

 

They followed the judge into the courtroom, and were pleased to see nearly all of the most important people in their world gathered there to wish them well. Only George was absent, and he would be with them in a few weeks for the party. Judge Petrovsky stood in front of the bench, and Liv and Alex took their places facing her, between Kate and Elliot, who was smiling at his former partner as proudly as if she were his own daughter or sister.

 

“This wedding is to be a rather informal one,” Petrovsky began, winking at the two women as she spoke. “But I'm certainly not one to pass up an opportunity to speak, and as it is my courtroom, ladies, I'm sure you won't mind.”

 

Everyone laughed, and Alex felt the warm sound roll over her like sunshine breaking through clouds.

 

“Alexandra and Olivia, I've known you both for so long—nearly as long as you've known one another—and I cannot express how very happy I am to see you both delivered safely to this momentous occasion in your lives. You've braved all of the usual obstacles one faces in finding love, and along the way you've had quite a few challenges that aren't usually recounted in the New York Times' Vows column. The joy on the faces of all those who love you speaks volumes about the lives you lead, and the happiness you've each brought to everyone you know. To see you enjoy that same measure of happiness in the company of one another, and to be with you as you celebrate your love and commitment, is an honor and a privilege for us all.”

 

Tears were forming in more than a few eyes, including Petrovsky's. Alex suspected that if she were to look around the room, only Kate would be immune to such heartfelt sentiments. She was surprised, then, to hear a sniffle to her left, and a sidelong glance showed her that even Merritt the Misanthrope was, in fact, crying.

 

The judge continued, “We are gathered together here in the presence of these witnesses to join this 

these women in matrimony, which is an honorable estate, and is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and discreetly. If anyone has any objections, I'll have to insist that you lodge them in an exasperated tone from behind the prosecution's table, or forever hold your peace.”

 

Alex laughed out loud, as did most everyone in the room. If there had been any thought that Petrovsky lacked either an affectionate respect for the ADA, or a wonderful sense of humor, she neatly dispelled both misapprehensions with a single sentence. Lena smiled briefly, then became serious as she got to the heart of the ceremony.

 

“Alex, Olivia, please face one another and join hands,” she directed. “Alexandra, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep her; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, as long as you both shall live?”

 

“I will,” Alex replied, her voice as firm and clear as it always was in a courtroom. She smiled at Olivia and squeezed her hand. 

 

“Olivia, will you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love, honor and keep her; in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, as long as you both shall live?”

 

Olivia's voice was softer, and laced with emotion as she spoke. “I will.”

 

“Alex and Olivia have written their own vows for the exchange of their wedding rings,” Petrovsky said, and gestured to Alex to proceed. Kate handed over the ring she'd been holding carefully since she'd left her house this morning, and Alex turned back to face Olivia, stopping to wipe a tear running down the detective's cheek.

 

“I've been imagining this day for longer than I had a right to, and every time I pictured this moment, I was the one doing the crying,” she joked. “Olivia Benson, I know without a shadow of a doubt that you are my fate and my destiny. You are simply the most wonderful person I have ever known, and I couldn't be happier than to be standing here with you today in front of our friends and family to commit our lives to one another. You teach me every single day what it is to love unreservedly, and to be loved unconditionally. You have shown me the power of faith, the strength of belief, the value of patience, and the comfort of companionship. You have taught me the importance of all of our yesterdays, the hope of our tomorrows, and the beauty of today. Liv, I will try to always be the very best that I can possibly be, for you, and I hope to always give you the wonder of discovery, the safety of home and the joy of love.” She slipped the platinum ring onto Olivia's ring finger, realizing they were both crying now. It was important to her to add one tradition to this not-entirely-traditional day by including the vows her own parents, and her aunt and uncle, had said when they married. “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” She lifted Olivia's hand and kissed her finger gently, brushing her lips over the cool metal band.

 

Olivia admired the ring for a moment, and reluctantly let go of Alex's hand to turn around and take a matching diamond-and-platinum band from Elliot.

 

“Alex, I never thought we'd make it this far,” she began, and everyone laughed through their tears. “I loved you from the moment I met you, even if I took too long to show it. Our path to this moment wasn't quick and it wasn't easy, but I wouldn't change a single step along the way. I have never met anyone who could hold a candle to you, sweetheart. You're brilliant and beautiful, strong and gentle, tough and kind. You make everything hard seem a little bit easier, and everything easy seem a little more important. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, talking to you, listening to you, and doing everything I can to support, inspire and encourage you. I love you, Alex,” she said. As she placed the ring on Alex's finger, she spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, and choked with tears. “I commit to you with all that I have, and all that I am, and all that I will ever be. This ring is a token and reminder of my love and faithfulness.”

 

As much as both of them had looked forward to this day, the solemn emotions threatened to overwhelm them and tears poured down their cheeks. Elliot reached around and handed Olivia a handkerchief, which she used to gently dry Alex's eyes, and then her own. She then saw Kate's hand reach around Alex to take the damp cloth, and then dry her own eyes, drawing a chuckle from everyone present.   


Judge Petrovsky went one step further, eliciting real laughter when she held out her hand and accepted the handkerchief from Kate, drying her own tears before tucking the fabric inside her robe and continuing the ceremony.

 

“Now that we've all had a nice cry, let's finish what we started, shall we?” She returned to her notes. “For as much as Alexandra and Olivia have consented together in wedlock and have witnessed the same before this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, 

and have declared the same by joining hands. Now, by the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you to be legally married.” 

 

Olivia put up her hand to silence the guests' applause. “And?” she asked Petrovsky.

 

“And you may kiss the bride.”

 

Olivia leaned in, and Alex met her halfway for a gentle kiss. Liv used her thumbs to wipe tears from Alex's cheeks, but could still taste the salt on her lips. “I love you, Alex,” she whispered.

 

“I love you, Liv,” Alex replied, wrapping her arms around Olivia's shoulders. They stood quietly together for just a few seconds, trying to absorb the reality of something they'd waited so long for, and then Alex pulled back and looked into Olivia's eyes. “Now, it's time to feed your wife, Benson.”

 

  
  


 

The wedding brunch was perfect. They had time to visit with everyone, and Kate had arranged for a photographer to set up in a corner of the private room they had reserved at The Standard Grill. Bill, Kate, Elliot and Don each gave a brief toast, and more tears were shed. It was an unreservedly happy day in a year that had been sorely lacking in them, and by the time they parted company with their guests at three o'clock, they were feeling the glow of more than a few cocktails. The bartender at the Grill, a cute girl named Shea, had obviously been in love with love herself. She kept turning out Autumn Brambles that were both potently mixed and frequently poured. 

 

Uncle Bill had called a car service to take them home, and Elliot drove their car and handed the keys off to the doorman for later retrieval. They arrived home and took the elevator up to their new home on the 14th floor. The apartment was a bit larger—they had a guest room now, which was nice—but the best part of the move was the spectacular view. They were on the northeast corner of the building, and their bedroom and living room looked out toward the Empire State Building. It was a panorama Olivia had always enjoyed from the rooftop deck, and she was thrilled to lie in bed and see the iconic structure some 30 blocks away.

 

They had begun kissing the moment they walked in the front door, and had spent a very leisurely afternoon kissing, and touching, and making love. Despite assurances from both Elliot and Melinda that this would change things, Liv hadn't expected _married sex_ to be any different from _engaged sex_ , or even _dating sex._ She'd been wrong. The gravity of it all threatened to overwhelm her.

 

“You're my wife,” she had said to Alex as they lay naked in bed about 5:30. 

 

“I am,” Alex confirmed. “And you're my wife. How does it feel, sweetheart? Someone finally tied you down.”

 

Olivia rolled onto her stomach and looked down at Alex. When her head dipped, making her shaggy hair even more tousled, and her brown eyes locked on to Alex's own, the attorney's stomach never failed to perform and immediate and pronounced drop. 

 

“Tie me up, tie me down, I don't mind at all,” Olivia said. “As long as you're the one tightening the knots, honey, I'm happy.”

 

“Here I thought we were having a romantic moment, and you have to go and talk about bondage,” Alex laughed. “You can always get me hot, Benson.”

 

Olivia leaned over and kissed her. “That's good to know, actually. I'm going to grab some water to cool you down,” she said. “Then I'll get you hot all over again.”

 

When she returned a few minutes later, Alex was standing by the bedroom windows, lost in thought. She joined her there, wrapping her arms around the pale, naked body that had been covering her own such short while before. She didn't speak, just kissed Alex's shoulders, nuzzled her ear and held her close. They'd been here before, she remembered, or at least in a place that looked awfully similar. The first night they'd spent together, when Alex was home from Wisconsin...she shuddered noticeably, and squeezed her eyes closed to block out the memory. 

 

“That's not now, Liv.”

 

She opened her eyes and whispered in Alex's ear. “What, baby?”

 

“I felt you, just now. I know exactly what you're thinking, and that's not now. That was a long time ago. I'm not leaving you, ever again. This is our home, and our wedding day, and the beginning of the rest of our lives together,” she said. “See the way the sunset makes the city glow, honey?”

 

“The golden hour,” Olivia said quietly. That last hour before sunset, when the warm light made everything glow like a lamp in the window on a winter evening, welcoming you home in the dark. “This is home, isn't it?”

 

Alex turned to face her, and wrapped those long arms around Olivia's strong back. “It is, Liv,” she said. “Welcome home, baby.”

 

Olivia took her mouth in a frenzied kiss, moving her hands down Alex's back, grabbing her ass and pulling her as close as possible. Alex's hands went to Liv's breasts, kneading and twisting as they consumed one another, teeth scraping against lips, tongues exploring. 

 

Pushing Alex backward against the glass, Liv reached down and pulled a long leg up and around her waist, then pushed her hand roughly between their bellies. She moaned as her fingers slid through the wet heat she found there, and she entered Alex quickly with two fingers. The resulting gasp immediately gave way to a deep sigh, as Alex adjusted to the slight stretch and then whispered a request: “More. Please.”

 

Olivia added a third finger, and began moving in and out, her thumb on Alex's clit as she fucked her. “So tight, and so wet,” she said. “God, honey, you feel so good around me.”

 

“Make me come, Liv.”

 

The request was simple and unadorned, and Olivia delivered quickly. Alex came within a couple of minutes, a deep orgasm that felt to each of them somehow more profound than any they'd ever shared before. Alex melted into Olivia's arms, spent from the physical and emotional release and exhausted by the weeks of pain and mourning and anticipation that had preceded it. Olivia gently guided her the few steps to the bed, lay her across the king-sized bed, and grabbed a blanket to pull over them before lying down beside her. 

 

They settled in on their stomachs, legs entwined and hips touching as they silently watched the last golden light seep out of the evening, replaced by a cool, dusky blue sky. When the room was nearly dark, Alex spoke.

 

“Lamest wedding night ever?” she laughed.

 

“Well, I don't have anything to compare it to,” Olivia said. “But I think it's been pretty wonderful so far, to be honest.”

 

“And it's not even seven o'clock. What would you like to do for the rest of the night?”

 

“Besides _you_ , you mean?” Olivia teased.

 

“Not necessarily,” Alex said.

 

“What I'd love to do is order Chinese food, and sit on the floor in our living room in front of that gas fireplace you were so opposed to, and eat dinner with you, and then bring you back to bed.”

 

“Then what?” Alex asked.

 

“Always need a plan, don't you, Cabot?”

 

“I don't always _need_ one,” she clarified. “But you always seem to have one anyway.”

 

Olivia kissed her on the forehead, then the nose, and finally on the lips. “Oh, you know me too well,” she said. “I do have a plan. But you'll just have to wait and see what it is, won't you?”

 

“Playing it cool?” Alex laughed. 

 

“I might be.”

 

“That's okay,” Alex said. “As of this minute, we officially have the rest of our lives, Liv. I can wait forever.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	36. Chapter 36

**-36-**

 

**Saturday, November 16, 2013**

 

By 7:30, Astra was filled with 75 people who were near and dear to Alex and Olivia. Or, at least, 45 who were near and dear to them, and 30 others they couldn't get a way without inviting. George was able to fly in, and all of Elliot's kids were there, as well. Liv hadn't seen the older girls in a couple of years.

 

They had a lovely dinner, and decided they'd limit the toasts to just two. Don Cragen spoke movingly of his affection for both of them, but couldn't resist joking about the fireworks they'd often generated when working SVU cases. “I was with them the first time they met,” he said. “And during many heated discussions since. Let me tell you, unequivocally, we're not only fortunate to be here today celebrating their marriage, we're also incredibly lucky they didn't kill each other 14 years ago.”

 

The other speech was reserved for Uncle Bill, who brought both of them to tears. “My wife and I have loved Alex as our own since the day she was born, and always hoped that she'd find someone who deserved her and would take care of her. When she finally introduced us to Olivia, we knew that she'd 

met her match. Alex has suffered more than her share of loss, and to see her inherent goodness be repaid with a gift as wonderful as Olivia is a real blessing to us...to me.” He choked up a bit, delivering a speech he'd first begun composing in his head when his wife was very much alive and well. “I'm sorry, everyone. We're a small family, made even smaller recently. But we have love in quantities that cannot be measured. My wife Jean and I had more than 40 wonderful years together, and it is my honor tonight to congratulate Alex and Liv, and wish them at least that much time, and at least that much love, as they begin their life together.”

 

 

The newlyweds were applauded as they took the floor for their first dance. As _It Had to be You_ played, they spun and dipped around the dance floor, the result of a little rehearsing Alex had insisted on in the privacy of their living room over the past several weeks. Olivia's Brut gold dress had a little more flare and swing than Alex's longer, copper-colored gown, but they both looked beautiful. After they ended their dance with a kiss, Uncle Bill took a turn waltzing around with each of them, as did Cragen, Elliot and all of the guys from the 1-6. The DA even danced with Olivia, congratulating her as he shared his admiration for Alex. “You picked a good one, Benson,” he said. “She's smart and tough.”

 

“You don't need to tell me,” Olivia laughed. “Too smart and too tough, sometimes. She’s been worrying me even more than normal the last few months.”

 

“I know that, and I am sorry for all that you both went through, Olivia. Things should settle down now. I don’t know how she managed to finally push Gordon into a plea deal in advance of the retrial, but he gave her all the information she needed. I think seeing the remaining evidence of her injuries convinced him that protection in federal prison was the best he could hope for. The feds have taken over completely now. They’ve picked up Bayardo and his lieutenants, and his organization is in shambles, so I think the protective detail can be safely removed soon.” He paused for a moment, then said, “She's got a long career ahead of her, if she wants it, you know.”

 

Olivia knew all about what had gone on with the case. Alex had downplayed the meeting with Gordon and his lawyer that had led to the plea bargain, but there was no doubt she had been masterful. She always was. The fact that her wife had a very long career ahead of her was obvious, but not something worth pondering in the middle of a celebration. “I don't doubt it,” Olivia told Samuels. “But right now she has a long honeymoon ahead of her. And I'm sure you won't mind if I try to make her focus on anything _but_ work for the next ten days.”

 

“Absolutely,” he laughed, and spun Olivia several more times, until Alex appeared at his elbow near the end of the song. 

 

“I realize you're my boss,” she said. “But surely you won't object if I steal another dance with my wife?” He graciously withdrew, and Olivia was pleased to find herself in Alex's arms. As wonderful as it had all been—the wedding, the brunch, the party—she was looking forward to having Alex all to herself for a while. 

 

“Your wife?” Olivia repeated. “You do love saying that.”

 

“And you love hearing it. But are you used to it yet?”

 

“Not even close,” Olivia said. “And I don't think I want to be. It gives me a little thrill to hear you say it, to be honest.”

 

“Good,” Alex said. “It took me nearly 15 years to marry you, Liv. I would love it if you took a few months to get used to being my wife. I'll repeat it as often as possible, just so you can get comfortable more quickly.”

 

“You're very sweet,” Olivia said. “That's not going to get you the honeymoon info you're angling for, but I like it anyway.”

 

Olivia had treated their destination as a state secret, and held it more effectively than the CIA could have dreamed of. She bought Alex a pre-wedding present of two identical suitcases, and advised her to pack one with cold-weather clothes, and the other with warm-weather garments. When they let for the airport, Olivia would bring the appropriate suitcase. Alex would find out at check-in where they were headed.

 

 

She wasn't disappointed. They flew out the next afternoon to Montego Bay, and once they were on the ground in Jamaica, they were driven by resort car out to Kingston. Liv had booked a beautiful Georgian Villa at Strawberry Hill. The resort was secluded and quiet, with access to a private beach, and a long, wrap-around veranda with a double hammock. 

 

They had a wonderful trip, relaxing and enjoying one another's company. They swam, hiked, went to the spa and slept more than they had in recent memory. It was the longest they'd ever been away together, and Alex couldn't have imagined a better way to begin their marriage. Their last night in Jamaica had been bittersweet, as they enjoyed an exquisite meal before packing to go home.  


“I'm going to miss it, Liv. Thank you, so very much. It was all perfect.”

 

“Because you're perfect,” Olivia replied. “Sad to go back?”

 

“Not sad, really,” Alex explained. It's beautiful here, and I'd like to visit again someday. I'd like to spend time alone with you anywhere, really. But I'll be glad to get home. That's where we're _us_ , doing what we do, and I love every minute of it.”

 

 

When they got home, the doorman helped them up to the apartment with their luggage, and a few minutes after they'd arrived, Michael returned and rang the bell. He was carrying an enormous flower arrangement that nearly took up the entire coffee table when he set it inside for them. A card tucked among the orange roses and stephanotis was addressed to them both. 

 

“Wonder who that's from,” Alex said as she sifted through the pile of mail Michael had given her. 

 

“I'm not sure, Ms. Cabot,” the doorman clarified. “They were delivered early today, so someone might have known you were coming home.”

 

After he left, Olivia opened the card while Alex went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. She called out a moment later. “Al, come here, honey. I think you'll want to read this.”

 

“What is it?” 

 

Olivia pressed the card into her hands as she re-entered the room. “Just read, sweetie.”

 

 

 

_Dear Alex and Olivia,_

 

_Congratulations on your marriage._

_My husband said very little about work, but he spoke of you_

_often, Alex. He admired and respected you, and was very_

_happy that you were to be married. Please accept our_

_best wishes for your continued happiness._

 

_Fondly,_

_Mary Beth, Kimberly and Joseph Hammond_

 

 

Alex read the note a couple of times and sat down heavily on the couch. “I don't know what to say,” she whispered.

 

“I do,” Olivia said, as she walked over and sat beside her wife, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. “Welcome back, sweetheart. We're finally home, safe and sound.”

 

 

 


	37. Chapter 37

**-37-**

 

**Tuesday, December 10, 2013**

 

Dev Patel was once again waiting, at yet another hole-in-the-wall tavern Madeline had selected. He still had no idea how she knew about all of these disgusting places, but she was forthcoming about why she chose them. _Deval, darling, surely you realize that it wouldn't do for us to be seen in any of my usual haunts, or even in the types of places you might spend your leisure time._ She'd said it with a pitying look, as if he were hopelessly unaware that she moved in circles to which he had no hope of being admitted. 

 

She could do that, string a few words together and manage to make your whole life—job, education, friends, even your dreams—seem like something she couldn't wait to wipe off of her shoe. He was still in the dark on a lot of details, but he had gathered that she had dated Cabot, and that it hadn't ended the way she'd liked. He almost felt sorry for the ADA sometimes, knowing she'd tangled with this woman and was likely to do so again in the near future. _Almost_ , he reminded himself. _But she doesn't deserve your sympathy. Cabot made a fool of you and fucked you over, Dev, and she'd do it again in a heartbeat._

 

She arrived ten minutes after their appointed meeting time, dressed pretty ostentatiously for someone who wanted an incognito chat. _Who still wears furs?,_ Dev thought. She seemed to be wrapped in a cloud of frigid air, though Dev couldn't say if it was the winter weather, or if she produced her own Arctic atmosphere. 

 

“Talk to me, Deval,” she said. “Why am I here?”

 

“The offer has been made,” Dev explained. “He'll take it. Probably won't announce anything for a week or two, but it's a done deal.”  


“And?” She was never satisfied with one thing, always wanted to know that the next three details were also going to go her way. 

 

“And I think he'll encourage her to consider it, very strongly.”

 

Madeline sighed, frustrated by the incompetence of people in general, and this person in particular. “I don't pay you to _think_ ,” she said. “I need you to _know_ that he will encourage her, smoothe the way for her, leave her with no reason on earth to say no. And I need you to be absolutely sure that she will say yes. No other outcome is acceptable to me. Do you understand?”

 

“You don't pay me to do anything,” he said. It was the most push-back he was willing to risk, and he wasn't sure why. She _didn't_ pay him, really. But she was the most intimidating person he'd ever known. He'd given serious and frequent thought to walking away, telling her he was no longer interested in doing her bidding, but he hadn't been able to pull the trigger for some reason. She'd never threatened him, _per se,_ but she didn't need to. It wouldn't end well—he was certain of that, and seemingly powerless to do anything about it. He was getting in deeper all the time, not sure where it was headed or why he was along for the ride.

 

“I will _reward_ you when the goals are achieved and the objectives completed,” she said. “People like you and I, Deval, we're not motivated by money. There are always larger aims, and we're successful because we never lose sight of that fact.”

 

His protest was weak. “I don't even know what the goals and objectives are,” he practically whined. 

 

“You will, when it's time. I'm protecting you, you know. The less you know at this point, the safer you are. Surely you trust me, Deval?” 

 

She did this periodically, too—moments after reminding him that she was better than him, she could still pull him right back in with bullshit that he ought to be able to see right through. She had a talent for manipulation that was just this side of hypnosis. He found himself nodding.

 

“Of course I trust you,” he said. “I'd just like to know what we're doing. I feel like I could be more effective if I had some idea...”

 

She cut him off, placing her ice-cold hand over his own. "You are being effective, Dev. Don't doubt that. At the end of it all, you'll look back and know that nothing could have happened without your expertise. You are critical to everything we might achieve.”

 

He was no more enlightened than he had been five minutes before, or even eight months ago when she'd first phoned him. In theory, he hated Alex Cabot, while Madeline claimed to care very deeply for her, but he was starting to wonder if that was the truth. 

 

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Madeline said. “Don't back out on me, Deval. You'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

 

 _That_ , he thought. _That might have been a threat, but it also might have been a promise._ She had power, he knew, and she could open a lot of doors for him, if he did what she asked. When he weighed all the factors, he had to admit, things like _wrong_ and _right_ always paled in comparison to power. 

 

“What do I do now?” he asked her.

 

She stood up and put her hand on his shoulder, setting off that unpleasant feeling he dreaded, and spoke briefly to him before she headed back out into the late-afternoon gloom.

 

“It's very simple, Deval. She has to be asked, she has to be encouraged, and she has to say _yes._ I don't care how it comes to pass, but that is what must happen. Nothing less will do.”

 

 

 

 


	38. Chapter 38

**-38-**

 

**Thursday, December 19, 2013**

 

The rumors had been flying around for weeks. Alex had heard rumblings before she left on her honeymoon, and the drumbeat had grown even louder by the time she returned ten days later, but nothing was confirmed until the DA called a meeting on Wednesday afternoon. He arrived late, and walked to the far end of the table to address the assembled group of ADAs and executive staff.

 

“Sorry to take you all away from more interesting things,” he began. “I'm calling a press conference tomorrow and I know you've already heard whispers about a change in this office, so I wanted to inform all of you before you hear it on the news. I've been offered a position in Washington serving as the Director for the Executive Office for United States Attorneys. I've accepted, and I'll start there in about 8 weeks.”

 

There was rumbling in the room, typical of any meeting in which big news was announced. People to her left and her right were mumbling to one another, but Alex kept her eyes on the DA, and had no interest in hearing what she knew was immediate and useless speculation on how it would affect them individually.

 

Samuels gestured briefly to quiet the buzz before continuing. “This will obviously be a time of transition, but we've all done some great work together, and this office is well-positioned to move forward with the many important initiatives we've already begun. I want to thank all of you for everything you've done. It's been a privilege and an honor to work with each and every one of you, and I know we'll be in touch as each of you goes on to do great things for the people of this city.”

 

Even a closed-door meeting with his EADAs was a polished performance for Colin Samuels, and Alex had no doubt that this job was only one rung on his political ladder. He covered a few more basic details about the administrative transition they could expect, but her attention had waned. This was significant news, and she was eager to leave this room and have some quiet time to ponder that significance.

 

The meeting broke up a few minutes later, and everyone stood, gathering their things and chattering on their way out the door. Alex had reached the doorway when she heard her name.

 

“Cabot?”

 

She turned toward the voice. It was the DA's assistant, Laurie Medlin. 

 

“Yes?” Alex asked, stepping out of the flow of traffic heading into the hallway.

 

“Can you hold up a moment, Ms. Cabot?” Laurie asked. “The DA would like to speak with you.”

 

“Certainly,” Alex agreed. She saw that Colin was finishing up a conversation with his Communications director. Pow-wowing about the press conference, no doubt. After only a moment, the woman left, and Alex noticed that Laurie followed her out the door, leaving the EADA alone with her boss. He walked over to the end of the table where she'd been waiting.

 

“Congratulations, Colin,” she smiled, offering her hand. He shook it, and thanked her. 

 

“I might soon say the same to you,” he said.

 

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

 

“Alex,” he began. “This is a golden opportunity for you. This office is going to be suddenly, and unexpectedly, empty. The jockeying for position is going to be fast and furious, but I think you're uniquely positioned to make a run at it.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Alex said, and laughed a little. This was a little surreal, and more than a little ridiculous. “I don't think...”

 

“I do,” Samuels interrupted her. “Your future is bright, Cabot. And this is the obvious first step. I know you've thought about it.”

 

“I have,” she allowed. “But things have changed for me. The idea of the political mudslinging doesn't hold the appeal it once might have.”

 

“And that's exactly why I wanted to talk to you,” he answered. “This will be a special election, and it will be quick and relatively painless. You'll have to run again, granted, but not for nearly three years. By then, you'll be wearing the mantle of a seasoned incumbent, and a fixture in the public's mind.”

 

“I don't know.” And she didn't. She'd known he might be offered a job in Washington, but she'd been so busy that she hadn't even considered the dominoes that might fall after that.

 

“Promise me you'll think it over,” he implored her. “Talk to Benson, call your uncle. I think they'll both agree with me that you should do this. I can guarantee you'll have my vote, at least.” He smiled at her, and she chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

 

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “I'll think about it. But that's all I can say.”

 

“That's all I can ask.” 

 

He walked out of the room, gently gripping her shoulder as he passed her. She turned to watch, noting that he was instantly surrounded by his staff, three maddeningly efficient flunkies who fell into a well-practiced formation around him as they headed down the hallway toward his offices. Her head was spinning.

 

Two hours later, the spinning hadn't stopped. She couldn't call Liv today—the detective was in the middle of a stressful investigation, and she was scheduled to testify in an earlier case as well. Alex would have to wait until they got home to talk to her. 

 

Meanwhile, she'd picked up the phone three or four times to call her uncle, but put it back each time, knowing she couldn't very well discuss this with him before she talked to Olivia. But she did call Liz's secretary, and schedule a lunch appointment for later in the week. She was going to need all the advice she could get.

 

  
  


 

 

Olivia was still at work when Alex left the office at 7 that night. 

 

“Benson.” 

 

“Cabot,” Alex responded with a laugh. “Long day, babe?”

 

“Sorry, honey, I suppose it has been,” Olivia replied. “I didn't even look at the screen before I answered.”

 

“And that is why I keep telling you I need my own ringtone.”

 

“I could go along with that,” Olivia laughed, “If you weren't so dead set on 'Short Skirt, Long Jacket.' What's going on, sweetheart?”

 

“Just leaving work. How long will you be there?”

 

Olivia watched Amaro and Rollins, heads together as they pored over the details of the file scrolling across Nick's computer screen. “Gonna be a while, I'm afraid.”

 

Hearing this, Rollins looked up. “Go, Olivia, nothing's going to happen here tonight.” Amaro nodded his agreement.

 

“You guys sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Amanda replied. “We're giving it 20 more minutes before we call it a night ourselves.” Olivia smiled her thanks before resuming her conversation with Alex.

 

“Well, the angels of the 1-6 have caused their blessings to shine upon me,” she told the attorney. “Seems I'm being sent home.”

 

“Great, honey,” Alex said. “Wanna meet me at Caffe Reggio for dinner?”

 

“Absolutely. See you there in 20?”

 

“Yeah, that'll work,” Alex said. “And Liv? If those angels look anything like Nick or Amanda, tell them I said thanks.”

 

  
  


 

 

Less than an hour later, settled into a booth at the Italian place they loved, Alex was breaking the news to her wife. “So, Colin thinks I should run.”

 

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Olivia's voice was full of concern, but Alex knew her well enough to know that her mind was open, and she wasn't going to push one agenda or another.

 

“Honestly? I don't know. Politically, his instincts are good. It would be a much easier race to run, facing a special election. A free-for-all could work to my advantage. And it would be fast, just a couple of months rather than a protracted campaign on the regular cycle. But I'm not sure if this is what I want, or if I'm even up for it.”

 

“Well, I know you're definitely up for it. In terms of your other concerns, this might be divine intervention. The short campaign would minimize the part that I know you dread the most, and the term itself is also shorter than normal, but not so short that you couldn't accomplish anything.”

 

“What are you saying, Liv?”

 

Olivia was touched by the uncertainty in Alex's voice. She knew the ADA could do anything she wanted, but the fact that she relied on Liv's encouragement was endlessly endearing. She reached over and took both of Alex's hands, tracing the fine-boned knuckles with her thumbs. “I'm saying that I'll support you in whatever you decide to do. But I know you'd do a damn good job.”

 

Alex was quiet for a minute, focusing on their joined hands, taking several deep breaths before speaking. “Liv, this will change our lives.”

 

“I know, Alex. I'm okay with that. I didn't marry you to hold you back.”

 

“You didn't marry me to be a politician’s wife, either,” Alex countered.

 

“No, that's true.” Olivia's expression was serious, even contemplative. Then she smiled, a sweet, gentle smile that never failed to warm Alex from the inside out. “I married you to be _your_ wife, even if you are a politician.”

 

She paused for a moment, continuing to caress Alex's hands, and then spoke again. 

 

“Alex, it's just going to be us, you know? There won't be kids and soccer games and carpools to distract us, or to fill the empty spaces. We have to be okay with each other, and whatever life we create, so that we have enough things to say when the silence gets to be too much.”

 

“I'll never run out of words when it comes to you, Liv.”

 

“But you might run out of the urge to say them, honey. You get tunnel vision. You see a goal and you become so focused on it that you see everything that _isn't_ the goal as a distraction to be ignored or an obstacle to be overcome.”

 

“I'm sorry for that. I thought for a long time I could just stop wanting those things...stop caring so damn much about them. But I can't.”

 

“And I don't want you to, baby. It took us a long time to find our way here, and it's been worth the wait. Maybe, if things had been different, we'd have a tiny little you running around. But that's not the way things went for us, and I'm perfectly okay with that. Having you all to myself is a luxury, and I don't take it for granted. That leaves room for ambition and career, but at the end of the day it's just you and me in that bed--not the job or the voters or all the lights and noise.”

 

“You're the only thing I need,” Alex said. “You're pretty amazing. You know that, right?”

 

Olivia smiled, even blushed a little. “I know that I love you, and I'm proud of you, whatever you decide.”

 

“Whatever _we_ decide, Sergeant Benson. But that conversation can wait,” she said. “Something you said just now has me thinking.”

 

“What was that, babe?”

 

“You said it's just going to be me and you in that bed, and I think that's something we should definitely spend some time exploring, as soon as possible,” she replied. “So, come home with me, honey?”

 

“Always,” Olivia replied. “Every single day, Mrs. Me.”

 

 

 


	39. Postscript

**-Postscript-**

 

Madeline was looking expectantly at the door when Dev walked in. He was early, and she was already halfway into a Scotch-and-soda, so she must have been waiting at least a few minutes. This was uncharacteristic. He saw a gin and tonic on the table for him, and he sat down and took a belt of the cocktail before either of them spoke. 

 

“Well?” she said. Her voice had an element of uncertainty he'd never heard from her before. 

 

“She's going to do it,” he said. “She's somewhere, right now, talking to her wife about it, but I'm sure she'll run.”

 

“Her _wife,_ ” Madeline repeated, recoiling slightly at the words. “And how do you know that the newly minted Sergeant Benson won't talk her out of it?”

 

“I just know,” Patel said. “I've laid the groundwork, talked to everyone I know, and I happen to have a source very close to the DA. She knows what he said to Cabot, and how the conversation went. Trust me on this. She's going to throw her hat in the ring.”

 

“You'd better be right,” Madeline said. 

 

“Oh, I am,” he said. The tables had turned, at least for the moment. She was doutbtful and unconvinced, but he was assured enough for both of them. “She's going to put herself out there. It's something she's wanted for years, and she won't be able to pass up an opportunity like this. So, she'll announce her candidacy soon. Now what do we do?”

 

Madeline downed the rest of her drink, and placed the glass neatly inside the ring of condensation on the table in front of her, before looking up at Dev.

 

“Now?” she asked. “Now, Deval, we do whatever we have to do to make damn sure she wins.”

 

###

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

Collateral Damage, Part 2: 

Unforgivable Means

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
